


The Venice Job

by nishizono



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-18
Updated: 2007-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:19:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishizono/pseuds/nishizono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter was one of the youngest Aurors in history. He was the Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Who Lived Again. He loved Guinness and Quidditch, and hated pineapple. He wrote letters to Hagrid every Thursday, and on Sundays, he visited Hermione and Ron. Harry Potter was also not gay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** None of these characters are mine, nor am I being paid to play with them. All characters depicted in sexual situations are considered by the author to be over the age of eighteen, regardless of their age in the source material.

  
"Potter, you have five minutes to finish wanking, or I'm coming in there with a camera."

Harry threw his quill down on the desk with an exasperated sigh and glared at the door of his office. "Could you be a little louder, Malfoy?" he snapped. "I don't think they heard you in Brazil."

"I could send a memo," came the amused suggestion.

"You would," Harry muttered under his breath, pushing his fringe away from his forehead. Grudgingly, he flicked his wand at the door, and it opened with a soft click to reveal a smug looking Draco Malfoy lounging against the doorframe.

"Finished already, Potter?" Malfoy asked, raising his eyebrows in mock astonishment. "No wonder the Weaslette left you."

Once upon a time, the mention of Ginny would have provoked Harry into an outright fit of temper. Fortunately, almost four years of dealing with Malfoy on a daily basis had taught him patience, and he only scowled at the irritating prat before turning back to his report.

"Unlike _some_ people, I don't exactly have time to wank at the office," he said, absolutely refusing to blush. Okay, so it wasn't entirely true, but that definitely fit under the category of Things Malfoy Doesn't Need To Know, Ever.

"Then why were you in here with your door locked?" Malfoy pressed with barely restrained triumph in his voice.

Harry looked up from his report long enough to shoot his childhood nemesis a pointed glare.

"Oh please," Malfoy replied with a dismissive wave, obviously getting the point. "Everyone in the division knows your password, so it's not like you're really keeping anyone out."

"Then why didn't _you_ just barge on in like usual?" Harry challenged, tossing his quill back down on the desk and giving up hope of finishing his report by five o'clock.

"Because 'Catching Harry Potter Mid Wank' wasn't on my to-do list for the afternoon," Malfoy replied easily.

"You wouldn't know, since you never bother to check your schedule," Harry said, blowing his fringe away from his forehead with a huff. "What do you want, anyway?"

"Shacklebolt wants to see us," Malfoy told him with a shrug. "Told me to tell you to be in his office in thirty minutes."

"Oh," Harry said, and turned back to his report. After a few minutes had passed, and he could still sense Malfoy hovering over his desk, he looked up through his fringe and snapped, " _What_ , Malfoy?"

"That was almost an hour ago," Malfoy replied with a smirk.

~*~*~

"What?" Harry asked faintly.

Kingsley Shacklebolt smiled at him serenely from the other side of the desk. Malfoy, meanwhile, snorted politely into his fist.

"What?" Harry repeated, expecting the rest of the division to pop in at any moment to laugh at him. Surely, Shacklebolt was having him on.

"It will only be for three weeks, at most," Shacklebolt explained patiently. "If you're lucky, it won't even take that long."

"No, no," Harry said, shaking his head. "Go back to the part where I have to pretend I'm gay."

At that, Malfoy apparently lost whatever self-control he still had, because he collapsed in his chair in a fit of side-clutching laughter.

"I'm glad _one_ of us thinks this is funny," Harry muttered.

"Oh, I do," Malfoy promised, wiping tears from his eyes. "Trust me, this is the funniest fucking thing I've heard in a long time."

"Language, Malfoy," Shacklebolt reminded him, looking pretty put out for a man who had just spent most of the morning cursing at new recruits in the training room. "Look Potter, you're the best man for the job, and after that incident at Gringott's last January, you need some good marks on your record."

"That was Malfoy's fault!" Harry began to protest, but Shacklebolt held up a hand.

"That file has already been sealed," the Head Auror said grimly. "Whoever was at fault, it still reflected poorly on the two of you _and_ the division, and this is a perfect chance for some damage control."

"Right," Harry said dubiously. "Because going to Venice and pretending to be gay to catch a couple of bank robbers is a great way to bolster my public image."

Beside him, Malfoy made a quiet squealing noise and bit his knuckles, his shoulders quaking with laughter.

"I'm glad you find all of this so amusing," Shacklebolt told Malfoy in a monotone. "Since you'll be going too."

" _What_?!" Malfoy shrieked, out of his chair and instantly furious. "What do you mean, I'm going too? I thought you just called me in here so I could laugh at Potter!"

Shacklebolt replied with another serene smile and started tidying the papers strewn across his desktop.

"No," Harry said, as plainly as he could. "There's no way I'm going to pretend to be gay with _Malfoy_."

"For once, I agree with Potter," Malfoy agreed with a vigorous nod. "Send someone else."

"The only other person qualified to take the job is Mottlefroom, who the Italian Council refuses to allow in their territory after he mistook a Muggle clergyman for a dark wizard," Shacklebolt replied, folding his hands on the desk. "And let's be honest, no one is going to believe he's gay."

Harry pictured himself walking hand-in-hand through the streets of Venice with Mottlefroom, who had a face like a rotten potato and a body to match, and shuddered. "No one's going to believe I'm gay, either," he said hopefully, getting a sadistic thrill from the thought of _Malfoy_ being forced to snuggle up to Mottlefroom in a gondola.

Shacklebolt and Malfoy shared a look, and Malfoy dissolved into another fit of helpless giggling.

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands.

~*~*~

"This is so completely unfair," Harry moaned into his pint of Guinness. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"You blew up half of Gringott's," Malfoy replied reasonably, taking a delicate sip of his own drink, which was dark purple and smelled like raspberries.

"That's not the point!" Harry protested, slamming his glass down on the desk. The idea of drinking with Malfoy was completely absurd, but Shacklebolt had ordered them to review the case file before leaving for the day, and they'd both agreed that alcohol would need to be involved if they were going to sit in the same room for more than a few minutes without hexing each other sideways.

Malfoy shrugged. "Shacklebolt's a sadistic bastard. He was in Slytherin, you know."

"He's a git- wait- what?" Harry stammered, wide-eyed. "He was?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes and set his drink aside on an overflowing box of files. "No, you gullible freak- god, how did you live to see twenty-one without getting yourself killed by a gang of ninja samurai?"

"A gang of- Malfoy, what the hell do ninja samurai have to do with anything?" Harry asked, shaking his head incredulously.

"They have everything to do with everything," Malfoy replied seriously.

"You're completely insane," Harry told him. "I'm spending three weeks in Italy with a madman."

"Look, it could be worse," Malfoy replied with an airy wave of his hand. "At least I'm gorgeous- you could have ended up with Mottlefroom."

"Please stop saying his name," Harry said with a shiver of disgust, suddenly understanding why everyone had such an aversion to saying Voldemort's name out loud.

"Besides, who knows, maybe this trip will pull you out of the closet," Malfoy commented thoughtfully.

Harry spit out the sip of Guinness he'd just taken. "Malfoy! God, would you stop? I am _not_ gay."

"You don't sound very sure of yourself," Malfoy said, his voice dropping to a lazy drawl. He stared up at Harry through lowered lashes and murmured, "Maybe you just haven't met the right man."

"No, I'm pretty sure of myself, thanks," Harry replied. Impossibly, Malfoy was apparently even more irritating when he'd been drinking.

"Your mouth is saying no, but your body is saying yes," Malfoy continued, and the lascivious wink that followed was just really over the top, even for him.

Harry closed his eyes and began to count to ten under his breath, very slowly.

"Well, all except your hair," Malfoy continued, undeterred. "But your hair always looks like it's shrieking in terror and trying to run away from your face."

"I hate you," Harry replied, crossing his arms on the desk and burying his face in them. "I really, really hate you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter was one of the youngest Aurors in history. He was the Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Who Lived Again. He loved Guinness and Quidditch, and hated pineapple. He wrote letters to Hagrid every Thursday, and on Sundays, he visited Hermione and Ron. Harry Potter was also not gay.

  
"I hate you. I really, really hate you."

Harry nobly quashed the urge to laugh at his unwilling partner's misery as they followed the hotel porter down the hall to their suite. They hadn't been in Italy for more than twenty minutes before Malfoy, looking as hungover as he claimed he was, had begun pleading for coffee.

"It's not my fault you decided to get smashed last night, knowing we had to get up early this morning," Harry told him in what he hoped was an annoyingly cheerful tone.

It must have been, because Malfoy scowled under the dark sunglasses he was wearing. "You _would_ be a morning person," he sneered.

Cheered up immensely by Malfoy's pain, Harry grinned at him as they came to a halt in front of a set of double doors. The porter opened them with a flourish, and ushered them inside.

"Wow, this is really nice," Harry said, genuinely impressed by the spacious sitting room, with its white marble floor and grey overstuffed armchairs.

"Plebian," Malfoy murmured under his breath.

Harry ignored him and fished in the pockets of his denims for some of the Muggle currency Shacklebolt had given them. The Italian wizarding community, like so many others after the war, had begun to merge with the Muggle world around them, including adopting its monetary system. In Venice, the Euro was already worth almost two sickles.

Malfoy had, of course, been unimpressed by this bit of information.

Now, he was staring with distaste as the money was exchanged and the porter politely bowed out of the room.

"Get over yourself," Harry snapped, suddenly annoyed. "In case you hadn't noticed, the rest of the world's been over the whole pureblood thing for years now."

That wasn't entirely true, of course- there were still some older families, like the Malfoys, who made their prejudices known- but he wasn't in the mood for a lecture about pureblood superiority.

"What are you talking about, Potter?" Malfoy sighed, throwing himself down into one of the chairs and wincing.

"I saw the look you gave that guy when he took the money from me," Harry accused, already itching to hex the irritating git's face off.

"What?" Malfoy replied, pressing his fingertips to his temples. "His fingernails were jagged, like he'd been biting them- revolting."

Harry watched incredulously as his partner shuddered with disgust. Really, it was impossible to tell when Malfoy was telling the truth, but he seemed pretty genuinely disturbed.

"I bite my fingernails, you know," Harry told him with something akin to malicious glee.

"I rest my case," Malfoy replied. "Do it near me, and I'll break your pretty nose."

"Don't threaten me, Mal- my what?" Harry asked, hating the sudden warmth that spread across his cheeks.

Malfoy pushed his sunglasses down his nose and glared over the wire rims. "Coffee, Potter, _now_."

"Fuck!" Harry cursed, suddenly remembering what they were supposed to be doing. "We have to be at the bank in ten minutes."

"You're damned lucky I have a headache," Malfoy growled as he was dragged out of the chair by the front of his robes. "Otherwise you'd find yourself taped to the ceiling. Naked. With a big sign outside that says 'Naked Harry Potter Inside' in flashing letters."

"Whatever, Malfoy," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Now come on, and I'll get your sodding coffee afterwards."

~*~*~

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

Harry silently nodded his agreement as they made their way down the narrow streets toward Banca Veritas. If someone had told him this time last year that he'd have to pose as Draco Malfoy's gay lover to attract the attention of two bank robbers, he'd have laughed before using them for _Avada Kedavra_ practice. Unfortunately, there was no one nearby to kill except Malfoy, and he didn't think that murdering his partner and dumping his body in the canals would go over very well with Shacklebolt.

Though, it would probably earn him a few points with the rest of the division.

"Remember," Harry told Malfoy, "These two have been preying on-"

"Rich gay couples," his partner supplied with an irritated huff. "Yes, I know, you've told me four times in the last ten minutes."

Harry sighed and shook his head, lapsing back into silence.

The two men they were tracking were responsible for numerous kidnappings and robberies all over Europe. They had established a pattern of waiting until an account was set up, then kidnapping the owners and using polyjuice to impersonate them. They would then withdraw the money and have the account closed, before releasing their victims and disappearing.

At first, Harry had wondered why they were choosing gay couples, rather than single men- women were out, since it was difficult to polyjuice into another gender- until Shacklebolt had pointed out that if the two culprits didn't trust one another, posing as gay couples would be the best way to ensure that one didn't disappear with the money. Both would have to be present when the account was closed, and unless they were unreasonably stupid, neither would risk being caught by causing a scene in full view of the public. It was a surprisingly brilliant theory.

Harry was startled out of his thoughts by warm fingers intertwining with his. "What the fuck are you doing?" he asked his partner, trying to pull his hand away.

"Shacklebolt said we're supposed to pretend we're together whenever we're in public," Malfoy replied with a scowl. "So shut up and pretend you like me."

"I'm not _that_ good of an actor," Harry muttered, but stopped struggling. Instead, he relaxed his fingers, refusing to be an active participant in this disturbing handholding business.

"I always knew you'd be a frigid bride, Potter," Malfoy said under his breath.

"I am not _frigid_ ," Harry snapped. "I'm also not _gay_ \- and don't even say you weren't thinking it, because I know you were."

Malfoy snorted quietly and said nothing.

~*~*~

"Oh, coffee. Oh, sweet, pure, untainted coffee, how I have _yearned_ for you."

"Would you please stop that?" Harry hissed exasperatedly.

Malfoy clutched the coveted cup of coffee, his third, to his chest and fluttered his eyelashes heavenward. "But it's so _good_ , and _hot_ , and _delicious_ , and it's all mine. Who knew that bank accounts came with free caffeine?"

"You're making a spectacle of yourself," Harry told him. Really, the way Malfoy was licking his lips after every sip was verging on obscene.

"I thought you liked it when I make a spectacle of myself, honey," Malfoy replied in a lazy drawl, his lips curved upward in a mischievous smile. Now that his hangover seemed to be receding, he was back to being completely insufferable- and in this case, that meant clutching Harry's hand at every opportunity, addressing him with ridiculous pet names, and moving their chairs so close together they were practically sitting in one another's laps.

"He's gone, you know," Harry said, gesturing to the empty chair behind the banker's desk, "You can stop now."

"But it's so rare we get any time alone these days," Malfoy purred with a feigned pout. "I'm starting to think you don't like me anymore, sweetheart."

Harry rolled his eyes and sank down into his chair with a huff, silently praying the banker would come back soon. How bloody long did it take to process an account application, anyway?

"This really is good," Malfoy said quietly, staring down into his cup. "I don't know how I'll ever drink coffee in England again."

"You could just stay here," Harry suggested hopefully. "Forever."

Malfoy scowled at him for a moment before licking his lips in a lewd manner. "Not without you, gorgeous."

Harry glared at him for a moment before turning away. This act of Malfoy's was already well past ridiculous and quickly entering the realm of unbelievable, which could potentially blow their cover and earn them a spectacular dressing down from Shacklebolt, followed by desk duty for the rest of their careers.

Closing his eyes and fervently hoping that his next move would have the predicted effect on his obviously insane partner, Harry reached out and threaded his fingers through Malfoy's. When he opened his eyes again, his partner was staring at him in shock.

"What's wrong, _darling_?" Harry asked. The hand in his tensed, then relaxed, then tensed again. Good. Malfoy had been thrown off his little game.

Just as Malfoy was opening his mouth on what Harry was sure would be an insult, the door to the office swung open and the goblin banker wobbled into the room. Sparing not a single glance at the stunned expression on Malfoy's face, he hoisted himself into the chair behind the desk and spread the application out in front of him.

"Gentlemen," he said in a voice like nails on a chalkboard, "I'm sorry to inform you, but there seems to be a problem with our verification charms."

"Oh?" Harry inquired politely, keeping a firm grip on his partner's hand. "Well, we don't mind waiting, do we dear?"

Malfoy glared at him, but shook his head mutely.

"I'm afraid the problem may take a day or two to sort out," the goblin replied, baring his pointed teeth. "We have new security measures in place because of all the robberies, and you know how fickle goblin charms can be whenever they're tinkered with."

"Yes, I do," Harry replied ruefully, remembering just how _fickle_ the charms at Gringott's had been. Who knew that casting an unlocking spell on them would cause an explosion? "Well, we'll be in Venice for a few days, so we might as well just wait until they're working."

The banker peered up at him suspiciously. "There are other branches in the area that you could open an account with, of course."

"No," Malfoy interjected suddenly. "No, we were impressed by the hospitality here, and we wouldn't dream of going elsewhere."

That seemed to mollify the banker, because he preened- or came as close to it as a goblin could, by Harry's reckoning- and nodded with satisfaction. "Leave the floo address of your hotel with my secretary, and I'll be sure to contact you as soon as the charms are operational."

"We'll do that," Harry said as he stood, pulling Malfoy to his feet as well and throwing an arm around his partner's shoulders. There was a muffled sound of protest, and he bit the inside of his cheek to stifle his laughter.

"About the, uh, _deposit_ ," the goblin said, staring at the stack of currency on the desk with a greedy gleam in his eyes. "Would you like to leave it here in the meantime? For safekeeping, you understand. It would be dangerous to wander the streets of Venice with that sum in your pockets."

"Er, no," Harry replied, snatching the money off the desk before the banker's claw-like fingers closed around it. "That's okay, really."

The goblin looked crestfallen, but offered them an almost polite wave as they quickly exited the office. Once they were in the hallway, Malfoy immediately pulled his hand away and glared at Harry.

"What the hell was that all about?" he hissed quietly.

"Now, now," Harry replied quietly, unable to resist grinning at the frustrated confusion on his partner's face, "You know I hate it when we quarrel in public, honey."

Malfoy blinked at him for a moment before his lips slowly turned upward in a smirk. "But just think of the make up sex we'll have later," he murmured in the same low voice he'd used in Harry's office.

Well, so much for beating him at his own game, but Harry was still determined to try.

Resisting the urge to turn away and hide the blush on his cheeks, Harry stared defiantly into his partner's eyes, and said, "Watch your mouth, darling, or I'll find other ways of keeping it busy."

…fuck, had he really just said that?

Apparently, he had, because Malfoy's eyes went wide and his cheeks turned an almost flattering shade of pink. Seemingly at a loss for words, he opened his mouth before closing it again with an audible click. Finally, he seemed to regain his composure, and he tossed his hair out of his face with an arrogant smirk.

"Well, Potter," he said smugly, "I always knew you had it in you."

Cursing under his breath, Harry glared at the back of his partner's head as Malfoy turned and strode down the corridor, sliding his hands into his pockets and whistling the whole way.


	3. The Venice Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \Harry Potter was one of the youngest Aurors in history. He was the Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Who Lived Again. He loved Guinness and Quidditch, and hated pineapple. He wrote letters to Hagrid every Thursday, and on Sundays, he visited Hermione and Ron. Harry Potter was also not gay.

  
Venice, as it turned out, had more bars in its wizarding quarter than the rest of Europe combined.

Or so it seemed to Harry, who was well on his way to Stumbling Ass Drunk by the time Malfoy led him toward the canals. It occurred to him that being near murky water with his arch-nemesis when he could barely stand was probably a bad idea, but he figured that if Malfoy killed him, at least he wouldn't be able to feel it.

Actually, he couldn't feel much of anything.

"Can't feel my feet," Harry complained, pronouncing every syllable very carefully.

"That's because you're a git," Malfoy replied with a muffled laugh.

"That doesn't even make sense," Harry protested, stumbling over a curb that had darted into his path. "If that were true, you wouldn't be able to feel your feet either."

"I can't!" Malfoy said brightly, swinging around a lightpost and nearly colliding with his half-conscious partner. "I was born with a genetic condition that destroyed every nerve ending in my body, making me impervious to physical sensations."

"Really?" Harry asked, wide-eyed. At some point, he'd come to a halt, but the rest of the world refused to follow his lead. Blinking, he tried to focus on the skyline as it swayed in front of him.

"You're such a freak," Malfoy gasped through a sudden onset of uproarious laughter. "Who actually _believes_ that kind of shit, Potter?"

Scowling, Harry punched him in the shoulder. "Did you feel _that_?"

"You twat," Malfoy said with a glare, clutching his shoulder. "Only _you_ would have perfect aim after fourteen firewhiskeys."

"Thirteen," Harry corrected him uncertainly.

"Fourteen," Malfoy replied, adamantly shaking his head. "Thirteen is unlucky."

"You can't just change how many drinks someone's had because you don't like the number, Malfoy," Harry said with an exasperated sigh. "Reality doesn't work that way."

"Mine does," Malfoy told him with a serious nod. Then, his face brightened, and he gestured toward the canals. "Come on, let's go."

Harry took a few steps and stared down at the dark water, blinking rapidly at the distorted light from the streetlamps reflected on its surface. "Er, I don't think swimming is a good idea," he said dubiously. "It doesn't look very clean."

"Oh my god, you're an imbecile," Malfoy said from somewhere close behind him. "I meant we're going for a gondola ride."

"Oh," Harry replied, flushing with embarrassment. "Why?"

When he turned, Malfoy was smiling at him. Not his usual sneering smirk, or even the mischievous grin he always wore right before something blew up or caught fire. It was the first genuine smile Harry had ever seen on that pale, pointed face, and for some reason he felt like something important had just changed between them.

Malfoy lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug, still smiling, and said, "Why not?"

~*~*~

So maybe being near murky water with his childhood enemy wasn't such a bad idea after all, Harry mused as he lay on his back in the gondola, staring up at the stars. The water lapped at the edges of the boat, and the breeze hissed through the narrow alleys between the buildings as they passed them.

At the other end of the boat, Malfoy was quietly humming to himself, interspersed with the occasional remark about the scenery. So far, he'd commented on the garish colors of some of the storefronts, the lack of decent architecture in England, the poor state of Harry's hair, and the surprisingly comfortable pillows their gondolier had provided.

In all, a night with Malfoy could have been much worse.

"Did you know Nott had a crush on Lavender Brown in fourth year?" Malfoy asked suddenly.

Harry propped himself up on his elbows and stared at his partner incredulously. Of course he'd known- the whole school had- so he wasn't sure why Malfoy would bring it up. Then, it occurred to him that the git was actually trying to start a conversation with him.

"Yeah," Harry replied, flopping down onto the cushions. "What ever happened with that?"

"Blaise beat it out of him," Malfoy replied nonchalantly.

"That's terrible," Harry replied, frowning. Maybe it was just his Gryffindor sense of nobility, but he couldn't imagine one of his housemates beating someone up over a stupid childhood crush.

"I'm lying, Potter; she turned him down in our fifth year," Malfoy sighed. "You're so gullible, it's not even entertaining anymore."

"Do you ever tell the truth?" Harry asked, knowing even as he said it that it was the type of question his partner would sink his claws into and run with. To his surprise, Malfoy didn't.

"Sometimes," was the quiet reply.

A few moments of silence passed before the question that had been bothering Harry for the last few days floated back into his consciousness. Deciding it was better to ask it while Malfoy was still mellowed by the firewhiskey, he licked his lips and asked, "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No," Malfoy said with a quiet laugh.

Harry took a moment to gather his courage before asking, "What about a boyfriend?"

There was no immediate response, and when Harry pushed himself up onto his elbows, Malfoy was staring at him with incredulous amusement. Feeling foolish, he quickly looked away to study the storefronts as they glided past.

"Potter," Malfoy began with a smirk in his voice, "Are you asking me if I'm gay?"

"Er," Harry offered helpfully.

"No, I don't have a boyfriend," Malfoy said after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. "But I know a few men who would be angry if they heard me say that."

"Oh," Harry said, staring up at the stars.

~*~*~

"No."

Harry braced himself against the doorframe and, because it was definitely a statement that deserved repetition, repeated, "No."

"I guess Shacklebolt wasn't kidding when he said we had to play the part," Malfoy observed from behind him.

They had checked every corner of the suite, opening closet and bathroom doors over and over again, just to make sure they hadn't missed anything. After almost twenty minutes of searching, they had both come to the same dismaying conclusion.

There was only one bedroom, and in that one bedroom, was only one bed.

"I'm not sleeping in a chair," Malfoy stated, and when Harry glanced over his shoulder, the Brat Prince of Slytherin had materialized in full force, complete with a defiantly raised chin and arms crossed over his chest.

"Fine," Harry said tiredly, too drunk and too exhausted to argue. The comfortable dreamlike quality of the gondola ride had quickly faded to harsh reality when they discovered their predicament, and he was in no mood to deal with histrionic purebloods.

"Good night, then," Malfoy said abruptly, pushing past him and sauntering into the bedroom.

Rolling his eyes, Harry followed to collect a pillow and one of the blankets from the immaculately made bed, before retreating into the sitting room. It wasn't really that he minded sleeping in a chair- he'd spent ten years in a cupboard, after all- but it probably wouldn't have killed Malfoy to be a little more diplomatic about it.

Harry snorted. Malfoy's entire existence could be defined as _anything but diplomatic_.

Huffing, he threw himself down into one of the chairs just outside the door of the bedroom and stuffed the pillow below his head. It was surprisingly comfortable, and his eyes felt heavy. Smiling slightly, he snuggled down into the blanket and yawned.

Just as he was drifting off to sleep, he was jolted awake again by a quiet tapping sound on the wall just behind his head.

Of _course_ Malfoy would be just as annoying in his sleep as he was when he was awake. Grinding his teeth, Harry counted the rhythmic taps, waiting for them to stop.

 _One, two, three… Eleven, twelve, thirteen._

The tapping sound stopped abruptly, and Harry blinked at the shadows for a moment. Hesitantly, he raised a hand above his head and rested his palm against the smooth plaster before curling his fingers into a fist and rapping on the wall, just once.

There was an answering noise, like someone drumming their fingers against the plaster, and then silence.

Shaking his head with bemusement at the complete absurdity that was Draco Malfoy, Harry closed his eyes and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

~*~*~

It was almost noon, and Malfoy _still_ wasn't awake.

Harry had been awake since nine o'clock exactly, taken a hangover remedy, finished two cups of coffee and the morning paper, taken a long shower, and reviewed their case for the fifth time in two days. Eventually, he felt restless, and decided that Malfoy had finally had quite enough sleep.

Pushing the bedroom door open as quietly as possible, Harry crept to the side of the bed and stared down at his sleeping partner. Malfoy had rolled himself into a cocoon of sheets, with only a few wisps of his light blond hair sticking out from the top. There was a muffled, sleepy sound as Harry sank down onto the edge of the bed and debated with himself on the best way to wake an admittedly dangerous wizard who had spent a great part of his childhood trying to kill the Boy Who Lived.

Eventually, he decided that there really _was_ no good way to wake someone who probably didn't want to be awake, and reached out to nudge his partner with a quiet, "Malfoy."

"Mph," the lump of sheets protested, and rolled away from the touch.

Sighing, Harry moved further onto the bed and tried again. "Malfoy, wake up."

"M'name's Dracon," Malfoy said, very clearly.

Harry sat back on his heels, trying not to choke on his laughter. "Dracon?"

There was a long pause before Malfoy tore the sheets away from his face and glared up at him. "I was dreaming about bacon."

Harry lost the battle. Clutching his sides, he fell sideways on the bed and laughed, all the while aware of Malfoy scowling beside him. Oh, he knew that he was essentially covering himself in blood before going for a swim in shark-infested waters, but he intended to enjoy this rare moment before his life came to a very painful and messy end.

"You sound like a dying cat," Malfoy observed. "Potter, you can really stop laughing now, it wasn't _that_ funny."

"Sure," Harry replied through tears of mirth, "Dracon."

Then, Malfoy did something completely unexpected.

Malfoy hit him.

With a pillow.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't the oddest thing he'd ever done- not by far- but it was definitely the strangest thing he'd ever done to _Harry_. They'd hit one another plenty of times, with curses and fists, but never in a way that spoke of playful exasperation instead of pure hatred.

When Harry lifted his head, he wasn't laughing anymore, and Malfoy was blinking up at him sleepily. The grey eyes that so often shone with contempt or anger were drowsy and half amused, and Harry was sure he had never seen his childhood enemy's tousled from sleep before. It was almost disturbing, to see Draco Malfoy look so utterly _human_.

"I really want bacon now," Malfoy whined halfheartedly. "Go get me bacon, Potter."

"I don't think they're doing breakfast anymore," Harry replied, stretching out on his side and propping his head up on his hand. "We could probably find something on the room service menu with bacon in it, though."

"No," Malfoy replied with a sigh, throwing an arm over his eyes. "It's not the same."

"You're such a prat," Harry told him, surprising himself with the lack of rancor in his voice.

"I was well provided for," Malfoy shot back, with an unexpected edge to his tone. "There's a difference."

Having no real response to that, given the unexpected shift in his partner's mood, Harry rolled off the bed to his feet and smoothed his rumpled clothing. It was nearly half past, and there still hadn't been any word from the bank.

"I take it from the lack of spastic behavior the bank hasn't called yet?" Malfoy asked, as if reading his mind.

"No," Harry replied with a frown. "I hope nothing's wrong."

"Well, they just said they'd call us when the charms were working," Malfoy pointed out as he crawled out of bed and stretched his arms above his head. "Maybe they're not functioning yet."

"Yeah," Harry agreed hesitantly. "Yeah, you're right, I'm sure that's all it is."

"Look, if you're so worried, why not just call them yourself?" Malfoy said, leaning against the bedpost and crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll go take a shower, and if everything's okay, _which it will be_ , we'll go find somewhere passable to have lunch."

Harry stared as his partner turned away and wandered toward the bathroom, wondering just what had changed in the span of twenty-four hours to make either of them consider willingly spending time together.

~*~*~

"I _told_ you so."

"What are you, five?"

"How many five year olds do you know who can do this with their tongue?"

"…there are so many things wrong with that question, I don't even know where to begin, and _stop that_ , there are little kids watching."

"They have to learn sometime."

"You're a very disturbed individual, Malfoy," Harry told his partner, shaking his head.

Malfoy shrugged, but thankfully stopped felating his ice cream.

As Malfoy had predicted, everything at the bank was fine, aside from the malfunctioning verification charms. The banker had assured them that everything should be operational by the morning, and as soon as the floo call ended, Malfoy had imperiously demanded lunch.

Despite Malfoy's need to constantly point out that he had been right about the bank, they had just spent the last three hours in one another's company without a single hex or curse being cast, and even their insults had somehow become more banter than bruising. After a quick lunch at a nearby café, which Malfoy deemed 'adequate', they had wandered into some of the local Quidditch shops and apothecaries. To Harry's surprise, Malfoy had grown bored with the wizarding quarter of Venice pretty quickly, and suggested that they take a tour of Muggle tourist attractions.

Which, in Malfoy language, apparently meant 'I want to visit gift shops and buy the most expensive things I can find.'

Eventually, they'd both tired of wandering, and settled for spending the rest of the afternoon by the canals while Malfoy sorted through his prizes, occasionally exclaiming, "I bought this?" Harry prodded one of the many shopping bags that surrounded them and grinned. It was a shame Lucius Malfoy still hated him; he'd have loved to see the look on the arrogant pureblood's face when he caught sight of the plastic gondolas his son was planning to glue to the ceiling of his flat's bathroom.

"I'll be right back," Malfoy announced abruptly, climbing to his feet and dusting himself off.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked, looking up and shielding his eyes with his hand.

Malfoy opened his hand, palm up, and stared at him. "Do you see that?" he asked.

"Er, no," Harry replied, confused.

"Exactly," Malfoy said, pointing at his outstretched hand. " _That_ , Potter, is a lack of ice cream."

"You've had three already," Harry sighed, even as he fished in the pockets of his denims for money. "I can't believe I'm supporting your habit."

"Correction," Malfoy replied, reaching out to snatch the bills from Harry's hand. "The _Ministry_ is supporting my habit, so your conscience is clear, ye noble Gryffindor."

Harry only shook his head in response as Malfoy shouldered his way across the crowded sidewalk to the ice cream vendor, who beamed at his approach. At this rate, the man's rent would be paid for the next two months by the time they were finished. The transaction only took a few minutes, but since Malfoy was nothing if not eccentric as all fuck, there was a long ritual of carefully unwrapping the paper from the cone and examining the ice cream from all angles before it could be eaten.

It should have been a little more surprising than it was that Harry knew that kind of thing about his partner. But then, he had spent a good portion of his life watching the bastard, and it had become habit at some point.

Malfoy was just making his way back, having apparently decided that the ice cream met his standards, when he collided with a younger man who had been coming from the opposite direction. The ice cream teetered precariously on the cone before falling, and Malfoy stared at it in dismay before turning to glare at his unwitting assailant.

Harry felt something akin to anger simmering low in his stomach as he watched his partner's face soften.

The man who had collided him was reasonably attractive, and it didn't take much to understand that he was apologizing profusely, even without being able to hear him. Malfoy _would_ be the type to have a soft spot for handsome men who were willing to grovel, and sure enough, the blond bestowed his newest prey with an lazy smile before leading him back to the vendor, who made absolutely no effort to contain his glee.

They talked through the pre-ice-cream rite, and when the young man moved closer to rest his hand on Malfoy's elbow, Harry rose to his feet. It was one thing to watch his partner toy with unfortunate passer-by, but this was going entirely too far.

Unceremoniously pushing through the crowd, Harry made his way toward the two men. Malfoy didn't look at all surprised to see him, but the younger man gave a visible start as Harry came up behind his partner and wrapped an arm around his waist.

"There you are," Harry murmured against Malfoy's ear, glaring at his partner's would-be suitor.

"Sono spiacente," the young man stuttered, taking a step backward. "I did not realize."

"Don't mind him," Malfoy drawled, giving his ice cream a long, slow lick. "He has a bit of a jealous streak."

"I do," Harry confirmed, resisting the urge to strangle his partner.

The younger man stammered another quiet apology before turning and fleeing in the opposite direction. Malfoy hummed delightedly around his ice cream as they watched him go.

"We're here to _work_ ," Harry snapped once the interloper was out of earshot. "And that means that as long as we're in public, we're together."

Malfoy twisted to stare up at him, and Harry belatedly realized that both arms were around his partner's waist. Quickly releasing the other man, he took a step back and fixed Malfoy with a glare.

"If you want to pick people up, wait until we're back in England," Harry said, hands curling into fists at his sides. Even after ten years, no one could make him so angry so quickly, self-enforced patience be damned.

"You brute," Malfoy replied with an exaggerated flutter of his blond lashes. "I love it when you get jealous."

~*~*~

"What about him?"

"No."

"Not even a throb?"

"A _throb_? Malfoy, you're disgusting," Harry said with a grin, resting his chin in his hand and staring across the table at his partner.

Their earlier confrontation had been forgotten somewhere between the ice cream vendor and the restaurant in their hotel, and by the time they finished their first bottle of wine, Harry's mood had improved exponentially. As they set to work on their second bottle, Malfoy had announced that they would be playing a game to pass the time. The game in question mainly consisted of unsubtly pointing at every semi-attractive man who entered the restaurant and asking, "Would you have sex with him?"

Malfoy seemed to be so entertained that Harry didn't have the heart to be mortified.

"Him?" Malfoy prompted, gesturing toward a startlingly attractive blond who was talking quietly with the maître d'. "I know _I'd_ have sex with him."

"Of course you would," Harry replied, taking another sip of wine. "He looks like you."

"He does, doesn't he?" his partner mused thoughtfully, and then caught Harry's eye to ask, "So, would you fuck him?"

Harry choked on his wine and only barely managed not to spit it back out into the glass. Bringing his napkin to his lips, mostly to dry them but also to conceal his blush, he glared across the table at his smirking companion, and hissed, "No, I wouldn't, because I'm not _gay_ , Malfoy."

"But how do you know?" his partner replied, leaning back in his chair and toying with the stem of his wineglass. "I mean, have you ever kissed another man?"

"I don't have to kiss a man to know I'm not gay," Harry replied, feeling the heat on his cheeks intensify.

Malfoy looked doubtful. "You've never wondered what it would be like?"

"I didn't say I never wondered," Harry replied, and damn the flush working its way up the sides of his neck. "But that's just part of growing up, yeah?"

"Not really," Malfoy said with a shrug. "I always knew I fancied boys."

"That's because you're a deviant freak," Harry explained with a grin.

Malfoy threw the cork from the wine bottle at him. "You're not allowed to steal my pet names."

"I've never heard 'freak' used as a pet name before," Harry snickered and absentmindedly pocketed the cork. "I didn't know you cared."

"I don't," Malfoy replied icily, and looked away.

"Oh," Harry said, blinking at his partner's profile in the dim light of the restaurant. The abrupt shift in mood should have irritated him, but he was far more concerned with the pitiful little twitch his heart gave in response to it.

"I'm tired," Malfoy sighed, pushing his wineglass away and standing. There was a pause while he neatly folded his napkin and placed on his chair, then he turned and made his way across the dining room.

"Malfoy, wait," Harry called, dropping what he hoped was an appropriate amount of currency on the table and following his partner into the lobby. They walked to the lifts in silence.

"Look," Harry began once the doors of the lift were closing, "I didn't mean to-"

The doors opened again as he was mid-sentence, and Harry cursed magic. Lifts were supposed to be sacred spaces for private conversation, which meant they were supposed to move as slowly as mechanically possible. Unfortunately, that seemed to be one of the many nuances of the Muggle world that its wizarding counterpart had failed to pick up on.

"Didn't mean to what, Potter?" Malfoy prompted, holding the door so it wouldn't close and making an impatient shooing motion with his free hand. When he glanced up at Harry from beneath lowered lashes, he didn't _look_ angry, but there was something else in his expression that wasn't simple exhaustion.

"I don't know what I did to piss you off," Harry told him quietly, making no move to exit the lift. "But whatever it was, I didn't mean to."

Malfoy stared up at him for a moment before saying, very softly, "You didn't do anything, Potter. I've had too much wine and I'm tired, that's all."

With that, he turned and strode down the hall without looking back. Had he, he would have found one very confused looking Harry Potter standing in the doorway of the lift, staring at his feet.

~*~*~

The moody bastard had already locked himself in the bedroom when Harry entered the suite, and by the time he finally fell asleep, Harry had convinced himself that the scene in the restaurant was just an act on Malfoy's part.

Malfoy had always been a drama queen, and even if the war had made him less of a whiny git and more of an irreversibly insane git, there was no doubt that he still craved attention. It was a well-known fact that Malfoy regularly took on cases that most of the division considered suicidal, and every fucking time he came back alive, he spent the next three weeks strutting around the office like one of his father's albino peacocks.

Besides, why should it matter to Harry what Malfoy was thinking? It wasn't like the bastard _had_ feelings to be hurt, and even if he did, that was one of those things Harry felt comfortable filing under Not My Problem.

Unfortunately, his Gryffindor sense of honor disagreed with that idea when he woke just before dawn to the sight of Malfoy perched on the railing of the balcony outside.

"Er," Harry said softly as he slid the glass door open. "You shouldn't jump."

Malfoy hung his head with a quiet groan. "Potter, you're lucky I'm not actually suicidal, or the sheer force of your stupidity would be enough to send me over the edge- seriously, 'you shouldn't jump'?"

"Shut up, what else was I supposed to think when I found you hanging over the railing in the middle of the night?" Harry replied, scowling at how ridiculous it sounded when he said it out loud. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Now," his partner said softly, staring up at the sky.

Well, that was a Malfoy answer if Harry had ever heard one. Shaking his head and raking his fingers through his sleep-mussed hair, Harry moved closer and leaned on the railing beside his partner.

"I guess it is kind of pretty," Harry conceded, staring out at the dark city. The last of the night's stars twinkled overhead, and the pre-dawn sky cast a hazy purple glow on the canals.

"Yeah," Malfoy agreed with a sigh. Abruptly, he turned and jumped down from the railing, but didn't move away. A light breeze lifted the ends of his hair, and Harry jumped when they brushed his cheek.

"We should get some more sleep," Harry muttered, feeling inexplicably awkward. "The bank should be calling early, and-"

"Potter," Malfoy broke in quietly.

Swallowing, Harry turned to look at him.

Malfoy was staring at him with an unreadable expression, his sharp features softened somehow in the muted light. When he tilted his head to the side, as if considering, a lock of pale blond hair fell over his eyes. Finally, he nodded, almost imperceptibly, and moved closer, lifting a hand to slide his thumb down Harry's cheek.

"Malfoy," Harry whispered, "What are you doing?"

"Looking at you," was the murmured reply.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Harry resisted the urge to take a step backward. Instead, he averted his gaze while his partner continued exploring his face with soft fingertips. They skimmed the length of his jaw, skated upward to just behind his ear, and stroked lightly just below his lips. Harry closed his eyes and swallowed, silently willing his heart to stop beating so fast.

There was a quiet exhalation, more like a wordless statement than a sigh, and Harry's eyes snapped open again when he felt warm breath ghost over his burning cheeks. Malfoy was so close it was difficult to focus on his face, and Harry's heart decided that was as good a reason as any to give an extra beat.

Dear Merlin, on top of everything else, the bastard was giving him heart palpitations.

"What are you doing now?" Harry asked in a quiet, strangled voice

"An experiment," Malfoy whispered just before his lips brushed Harry's.

Too stunned to move, Harry stood completely still for a moment in wide-eyed astonishment. Undeterred, Malfoy moved closer still, pressing him back against the railing. There was a brief pause before Malfoy's lips covered his again, this time more determinedly, and Harry's eyes fluttered closed.

Harry never would have thought a mouth that had shouted so many hexes and insults could be so soft, and he unsuccessfully tried to stifle a quiet whimper when the tip of Malfoy's tongue swept across his lips. Parting them almost instinctually, Harry hesitantly returned the gesture, and was rewarded with a quiet gasp from his partner.

Malfoy lifted a hand to cup the back of Harry's head and deepened the kiss, his other arm sliding around his partner's waist. Harry's breath caught in his throat as their tongues met, and he slid both hands up Malfoy's arms to his shoulders, meaning to push him away but holding him in place instead.

It wasn't supposed to feel like this, Harry thought dazedly. The few times he had imagined kissing another man, it had been harsh and raw, more like fighting than anything else- and had he ever wondered what it would be like to kiss _Malfoy_ , he never would have expected it to be so slow, and earnest, and _good_.

Nothing between them had ever been anything but violent, after all.

Malfoy pulled away first, and Harry immediately pressed forward, unwilling to relinquish his lips. A hand in the center of his chest stopped him, however, and he opened his eyes to find his partner staring at him with a quizzical expression.

"What about now?" Malfoy whispered, tilting his head to the side again.

It took a moment for Harry's thoroughly kissed brain to work the question through, and when he did, his heart inexplicably plummeted into his stomach. Just an experiment, then.

"Nothing," he lied.

Malfoy's hand fell to his side, and he shrugged. Tossing his hair out of his eyes, he turned away without a word and slipped back into the shadowy sitting area, leaving Harry to stare at his retreating back.


	4. The Venice Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter was one of the youngest Aurors in history. He was the Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Who Lived Again. He loved Guinness and Quidditch, and hated pineapple. He wrote letters to Hagrid every Thursday, and on Sundays, he visited Hermione and Ron. Harry Potter was also not gay.

  
Harry Potter was one of the youngest Aurors in history. He was the Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Who Lived Again. He loved Guinness and Quidditch, and hated pineapple. He wrote letters to Hagrid every Thursday, and on Sundays, he visited Hermione and Ron.

Harry Potter was also not gay.

That became his mantra over the course of the following morning, as he listened to Malfoy recite poetry to his coffee and complain about the state of his hair, like the kiss had never happened and everything was as it should be.

Except, of course, that it wasn't.

By the time they were seated in the banker's office, signing forms and making their deposit, the mantra had become a constant buzz in the back of Harry's mind. Every time he caught a glimpse of Malfoy's fingers twirling a silver pen, or heard his partner refer to him with any one of the ridiculous pet names they'd come up with, his mind automatically reminded him: _not gay_.

It began to lose its potency after awhile.

"I wonder what they look like," Malfoy was saying as they made their way out of the bank and into the warm afternoon sun.

"Who?" Harry asked distractedly.

"The ninja samurai who attacked me in my sleep last night and demanded I bring them a shrubbery," his partner replied in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Oh," Harry muttered with a slight nod.

" _Potter_ ," Malfoy snapped, nearly startling Harry out of his skin. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Sorry," Harry replied sheepishly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "What were you saying?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes skyward. "I was wondering what the suspects look like, since none of the victims have seen their faces."

Harry shrugged silently and kept walking.

"I bet they're hideous," Malfoy continued in a thoughtful tone. "With beady eyes and gnarled hair, and- well, I guess they probably look a lot like you."

Harry couldn't help it, he laughed. "You're ruining my self-esteem, Malfoy."

"Oh please," Malfoy said disbelievingly. "If looking in the mirror every morning hasn't destroyed your self-esteem by now, then it's probably indestructible- oh look, a candy store!"

"I swear you're a five year old in a twenty-one year old's body," Harry muttered, shaking his head. "We have candy stores in England, you know."

"Yes," Malfoy replied, holding up a finger. "But not _Italian_ candy stores."

Rolling his eyes, Harry sighed and followed his partner into the shop, vehemently reminding himself that wondering what chocolate would taste like in Malfoy's mouth did _not_ mean he was gay.

~*~*~

"It hurts."

"Of course it hurts," Harry said, trying not to laugh. "You just ate two pounds of chocolate by yourself."

"You had two pieces," Malfoy shot back, clutching his stomach.

Harry chuckled and shook his head, turning his attention back to the bright blue sky as the gondolier navigated the busy canals. After Malfoy had purchased his sweets, they'd agreed to take advantage of the warm afternoon by spending the rest of the day outside.

"Fuck!" Malfoy cried suddenly, startling his daydreaming partner.

"What are you whining about now?" Harry asked, squinting in the glare of the sunlight on the water.

Rather than responding, Malfoy scanned the crowded canal as if he had lost sight of something, until his gaze apparently landed on whatever he was looking for. Shooting to his feet, and causing the gondola to sway dangerously, he pointed up ahead and snapped, "Follow that boat."

The confused gondolier glanced back and forth between his two passengers, but complied, rowing the gondola past two larger boats full of tourists.

"Oh my god, I'm trapped in a Muggle spy novel," Harry groaned. "What's your problem, Malfoy?"

"Do you not _see_ that?" Malfoy hissed, gesturing wildly to the gondola they were apparently following. There were two young men in it, chatting and lounging against the sides. They were both fairly attractive, but Harry didn't think either of them were anything to get worked up about.

"Please tell me you're not being this dramatic to chase down a shag," Harry said with a sigh, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands.

"Potter, you imbecile, it's _them_ ," his exasperated partner spat. "Look closer and tell me what they look like."

By this time, the gondolier seemed to be resolutely ignoring them, and Harry didn't blame him. Malfoy sounded like a lunatic.

Squinting, Harry stared at the two young men and said, in a dry tone, "Late teens, both of them slender with black hair- no, wait, one of them has blon- er- red hair- oh."

"Yes, _oh_ ," Malfoy said. "That's why no one can remember what they look like; they're using some sort of disillusionment glamour."

"Shit," Harry cursed. There were too many Muggles nearby to stun or bind even one of the men, never mind both of them. The way Malfoy's right hand was rhythmically clenching and relaxing told him his partner was feeling similarly frustrated.

As if reading his thoughts, one of the two men turned and glanced over his shoulder, his face a disorienting mask of constantly shifting features. Grabbing his accomplice's arm, he said something Harry couldn't hear, and his companion turned to look at them too, before shouting something at their gondolier in Italian.

"Fuck, they saw us," Malfoy snapped. "This is the slowest chase scene ever- can't this boat go any faster?"

The now disgruntled looking gondolier shook his head, his brow covered in sweat as he rowed as quickly as he could, which moved them along at approximately the speed of a fast jog.

Unfortunately, they had moved into the narrow channels of a residential district, where the sidewalks gave way to tiny docks, and front doors that loomed directly over the canal. Otherwise, Harry would have abandoned the gondola in favor of pursuing them on foot.

However, the advantage was that there were fewer Muggles in the area, and when Harry glanced at Malfoy from the corner of his eye, his partner was already reaching for the wand hidden in his sleeve. Up ahead, the other wizards seemed to be thinking the same thing, and Harry drew his own wand just in time to parry a stinging hex.

"What the hell?" he muttered, narrowing his eyes at the pair of fugitives. It wasn't the sort of spell one would have expected seasoned criminals to use.

The flurry of magical activity startled both gondoliers, and Harry cursed under his breath as they simultaneously stopped rowing to stare at their wizard passengers with wide, terrified eyes. Lacking the patience and time to cast a memory charm, Harry pointed his wand at the man who had been steering their gondola, and snapped, " _Imperio_! Keep us moving."

"I don't ever want to hear another lecture about not threatening Muggles with magic, Potter," Malfoy said before trying, and failing, to cast a binding spell on the two men. "Fuck, why won't my binding spells take?"

"My stuns won't, either," Harry replied, ducking a frostbite hex. "I think they're toying with us."

"You think?" Malfoy sneered as he parried another curse. "Try a hex."

"We're not supposed to-" Harry began to protest.

"You just cast the Imperius Curse on a Muggle, you dolt," Malfoy interrupted impatiently as they ducked another volley of mostly harmless spells. "Now is _really_ not a good time to- _watch out!_ "

Before Harry could respond, he was being forcibly shoved against the side of the gondola. The vessel gave a violent sideways lurch as a bolt of yellow light sailed past and struck a nearby dock. The ancient wood immediately burst into flames, sending a grey plume of smoke curling skyward.

" _Incendio_!" Malfoy shouted, directing his wand at the other gondola. The spell hit its target, and there was an indistinct yell as the back of the boat caught fire.

The two thieves were in the water and swimming for the far side of the canal before their gondolier even realized what was happening. When the poor man caught sight of the flames licking up the sides of the gondola, however, he quickly followed suit.

"Shit, we're going to lose them," Malfoy swore. "We have to apparate."

Technically, even Aurors were forbidden to apparate in Muggle populated areas- but technically, they weren't supposed to cast Unforgivables on gondoliers, either. Muttering a few choice expletives under his breath, Harry broke the connection with their dazed looking gondolier and grabbed Malfoy's arm.

"I just want you to remember, when Shacklebolt is trying to decide which of us he's going to kill first, that this is all your fault," Harry told his partner just before they apparated.

Their suspects had disappeared into a narrow alley between two houses, and the two Aurors appeared right behind them, breaking into a run as soon as they materialized. One of the men stopped suddenly and turned on his heel, a hex already on his lips. Before Harry could act to stop him, Malfoy had also raised his wand and shouted, " _Sectumsempra!_ "

A chill spread through Harry's body as the wizard's glamour slowly faded to reveal a boy no older than sixteen. For a moment, it seemed Malfoy's curse had missed its target, but then a thick, red line blossomed through the young man's shirt, from shoulder to ribs. Blue eyes wide with shock, the boy swayed on his feet before dropping to his knees.

The other had already stopped in his tracks, and was looking on with horror as his companion lurched forward, clutching his side. Though his glamour was still in place, Harry could see it beginning to waver, and the features behind the mask were just as young as the other boy's.

Rushing forward, the young man fell to his knees behind his partner and wrapped both arms around his waist. When he lifted his head, the shifting colors of his eyes gleamed with fury, and before either Auror could rush to offer medical assistance, both boys disappeared with a loud pop.


	5. The Venice Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter was one of the youngest Aurors in history. He was the Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Who Lived Again. He loved Guinness and Quidditch, and hated pineapple. He wrote letters to Hagrid every Thursday, and on Sundays, he visited Hermione and Ron. Harry Potter was also not gay.

  
"Snopes, run me a report of all underage apparations in the last seventy-two hours, concentrating on Venice and the surrounding area. Puddlywink, I want you to contact every hospital in Italy, even the Muggle ones- we're looking for trauma to the left shoulder and torso. Stile, I need- what _is_ your job, anyway? All I ever see you do is fill your face with chocolate frogs and look at back issues of Playwitch."

" _MALFOY! POTTER!_ "

Kingsley Shacklebolt's booming voice cut through the din, and the entire office fell deathly silent. Malfoy, who had been about to launch into another litany of orders, paused with his hand in midair and slowly turned. Harry admired his courage.

"I want both of you in my office _now_ ," Shacklebolt said, quietly enough to send a chill down Harry's spine.

The noise level slowly rose again, signaling the Head Auror's departure, and Harry turned to his partner. "Malfoy," he said very calmly, "I just want you to remember that this is all your fault."

~*~*~

"It's my fault, sir," Harry said, the moment Shacklebolt's office door closed behind him. "None of our binding spells-"

" _Silence!_ ," the Head Auror thundered, slamming both hands on the desk and sounding much more like a certain former Potions Master than he really had any right to. "Do the two of you know how I spent my lunch break today?"

Harry and Malfoy shared an apprehensive glance and shook their heads in unison.

"No?" Shacklebolt said, his dark eyes gleaming with anger. "I just spent the last hour explaining to the Italian Council for Magic why two of _my_ men destroyed a private dock, caused more than two thousand euros worth of damage to a gondola, apparated in a densely populated neighborhood, _eviscerated_ an underage wizard, _and cast an Unforgiveable Curse on a Muggle_."

Harry swallowed. Beside him, Malfoy cleared his throat.

"The two of you have ten minutes to tell me why I shouldn't have both of you fired and thrown in Azkaban," Shacklebolt continued in an unnaturally quiet voice. "And it had better be good, gentlemen- _very_ good."

"Er," Harry offered.

"Oh for-" Malfoy broke in with an exasperated sigh, "Look, we weren't the ones who destroyed that dock. They cast first- before that, it was mostly harmless hexes and failed binding spells- the spell wasn't even aimed at the dock to begin with, it was aimed at Potter."

"I see," Shacklebolt said dryly.

"It's true," Harry added quietly, "If Malfoy hadn't pushed me out of the way, I'd probably be in Saint Mungo's right now; it caught me off guard."

"Because _that's_ hard to do," Malfoy said under his breath, and then more loudly, "Potter cast the Imperius _because_ we didn't want to apparate, and the gondolier was too scared to keep rowing with all the spells flying around."

Shacklebolt arched an eyebrow disbelievingly, but his shoulders relaxed slightly and he sank down into the chair behind his desk. "And the gondola?" he prompted.

"Instinctual reaction," Malfoy explained with a casual shrug, as if he'd just been caught breaking a vase instead of destroying a boat.

"And I suppose you have an explanation for using Sectumsempra on a minor, as well?" Shacklebolt continued in a grave tone.

There was a beat of silence, and when Harry glanced at his partner, Malfoy was glaring at the Head Auror like he could curse him with a look. For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn't respond, but then he finally said, very quietly, "He almost killed Potter."

"That's the best excuse you can give me?" Shacklebolt asked incredulously, seemingly as taken aback by the admission as Harry himself was. Since when did Malfoy care whether his childhood nemesis lived or died? If anything, most of the wizarding world might have expected him to throw a celebratory dinner party whenever the Boy Who Lived became the Boy Who Died A Gruesome And Horrible Death.

"You tell me," Malfoy shot back.

"You're out of line, Malfoy," Shacklebolt said, rising to his feet again and bracing his hands on the desktop.

"I'm always out of line," Malfoy sneered with a dismissive wave.

"The two of you seem to forget that whenever you're in the field, you're representatives of this division," Shacklebolt ground out from between clenched teeth. "You have a responsibility to the Ministry-"

" _Sod_ the Ministry, Kingsley," Malfoy shouted, suddenly furious. "Where the fuck are _they_ when we're dodging hexes? Are _they_ going to apparate in with blood replenishing potions when we've been injured?"

Shacklebolt looked as astonished as Harry felt at the sudden outburst.

"My responsibility is to my partner," Malfoy continued, his cheeks flushed with anger. "Potter's the one who fought beside me today, and before him it was Mulfop, and before _him_ it was Puddlywink- _not_ the fucking Ministry."

By the time Malfoy was finished, Harry was staring at him in amazement. Malfoy was the sort of person who got worked up about the quality of the coffee in the break room, not the sacred relationship between case partners. Of all the years they had worked together in one form or another, Harry had never heard his former enemy deliver such a passionate speech, and especially not in regards to _him_.

"Well," Shacklebolt said after a moment, "While I understand your point, Malfoy, the fact still remains that you used an unauthorized, and very dangerous, curse on a minor."

Malfoy said nothing; his brow was furrowed, and he was staring at a place on the wall over the Head Auror's desk.

"I should suspend you," Shacklebolt continued, sighing and rubbing a hand over his face. "Given the circumstances, though, I'll take a formal statement from you after you've had a chance to calm down, and-"

"Schools," Malfoy said suddenly.

"Uh," Harry replied.

"Excuse me?" Shacklebolt asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Schools," Malfoy repeated. "We need to check the list of runaways from wizarding boarding schools- we're looking for fifth or sixth year boys, especially from pureblood families."

"Wha-?" Harry began, and then understanding finally dawned. "Fuck, Malfoy, you're a genius."

"Yeah, I know," his partner replied absently.

"And why are we headed in this direction?" Shacklebolt asked, glancing back and forth between the two.

"Because they're not posing as gay couples to make it so one can't disappear with the money," Malfoy explained, gesturing abstractly with his hands. "They're doing it because they _are_ a gay couple, and they're on the run, probably from parents who don't approve- you see a lot of that in pureblood families."

The Head Auror narrowed his eyes for a moment, as if considering, and then stood. "You're lucky your insanity gives way to good ideas sometimes, Malfoy," he said as he rounded his desk and made his way toward the door. "You just saved yourself from a month long tour of duty with Mottlefroom."

Harry caught his partner's arm as Malfoy moved to follow Shacklebolt.

"What, Potter?" Malfoy asked impatiently. "We have a lot of work to do."

"I know, I just-" Harry stammered. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, you imbecile," his partner replied with a huff and a roll of his eyes. "Someone has to save you from yourself."

Harry grinned and released him, but just as Malfoy stepped out into the hallway, another thought occurred to him. "Hey, Malfoy!" he called. "How'd you know they were gay?"

The other man paused, mid-step, and cast a glance over his shoulder. Harry couldn't see the expression on his face, but when Malfoy spoke, his voice was very quiet. "Because no one reacts that strongly to the idea of their partner being hurt unless they care about them."

~*~*~

Harry glared at his firewhiskey.

It didn't glare back. It didn't insult his hair, or comment on his bitten fingernails, or even mock the way he chewed on his lower lip until he tasted blood. In short, it didn't do any of the things Malfoy would have done.

It was completely ridiculous to miss the irritating bastard, Harry knew. They had just spent more time in one another's company in the span of a few days than they had in the entire four years they'd worked together. If anything, Harry should have been grateful to be rid of Malfoy.

Except, he wasn't.

Sighing, Harry pushed the glass away and slumped in the booth. Shacklebolt had demanded they both go home and get some sleep while the rest of the division sorted through the list of runaways who matched the profile Malfoy had dreamed up, but sleep was the last thing on Harry's mind. Malfoy should have been the last thing on his mind, too.

Except, he wasn't.

Cursing under his breath, Harry fished a galleon out of his pocket and tossed it onto the table with a clang. It was more than enough to pay for his drink, but he didn't care; he'd already had too many, and he didn't feel like waiting for his change. Besides, if he hesitated for just a moment more, his nerve might follow suit.

Nights in England were nothing like nights in Italy, and Harry shivered as he pulled his jacket more tightly around his body. It was already well past midnight, and it was freezing outside, and this idea was completely absurd anyway, but that didn't stop Harry from making his way toward Malfoy's flat in Kensington.

There was a lone figure on the front steps of the building when Harry turned the corner, and he stopped short. The reddish glow of a cigarette made a smooth arc through the air, and glowed brightly for a moment as the man on the stairs took a drag. That act was followed by a muffled cough, and Harry grinned to himself.

Malfoy always coughed when he tried to smoke.

It was a habit he'd tried to develop when he first started working at the division, claiming it would make him look more intimidating during interrogations. Unfortunately, it also made him hack and wheeze, and pull all sorts of undignified faces, so he'd given up after a few days. Now, he only smoked when he was nervous or deeply upset about something.

"Thought you quit," Harry murmured as he approached, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"I did," Malfoy replied in a whisper, taking another drag and immediately launching into another convulsive coughing fit.

Harry plucked the cigarette from between his partner's fingertips and dropped it on the sidewalk, crushing it below his boot. "You're going to wake your neighbors up."

"They'd deserve it," Malfoy replied with a dismissive wave. "You should hear the racket they make on Mondays; nine o'clock in the morning, and they're walking up and down stairs, opening and closing doors."

"How dare they go to work at a decent time," Harry commented with a quiet snort of laughter.

"Exactly!" Malfoy exclaimed in a whisper, grey eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Why do you live in a Muggle neighborhood?" Harry asked suddenly. It was a question he'd been pondering since the first and only time he'd been to Malfoy's flat- ironically enough, to wake him up when he was two hours late for work one Monday morning- but had never gotten the opportunity to ask.

"They don't ask me about my father," Malfoy replied with a shrug, looking away. "To them, I'm just a devastatingly handsome law school student who just happens to have a few eccentricities."

"Eccentricities?" Harry repeated, deciding it was probably better not to make a big production about his partner's confession. "You mean you're completely insane."

"No, commoners are insane," Malfoy replied thoughtfully. "Rich people and artists are eccentric."

"Oh, is that how that works," Harry said with a quiet laugh.

They lapsed into silence, standing shoulder to shoulder on the stairs. Somehow, while Harry hadn't been paying attention, Malfoy had become a familiar and almost comforting presence. If he closed his eyes, _when_ he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that the man beside him wasn't the older version of the boy he had known and hated for seven years of his life.

"I take walks at night, when I can't sleep," Malfoy said softly, as if divulging a jealously guarded secret.

"Me too," Harry whispered.

"I used to wonder if I'd run into someone else, doing the same," Malfoy continued in a murmur. "I'd wonder if I'd have the nerve to talk to them, and if I did, what we'd talk about."

"This," Harry said quietly, withdrawing his hand from his pocket. Slender fingers laced through his, and this time, he didn't pull away or try to pretend he couldn't feel the warmth of his partner's palm pressed against his hand.

"Yeah," Malfoy breathed beside him.

When Harry turned to look at his partner, Malfoy's eyes were closed, and his cheeks were pink from the chill in the air. It was strange to see him so unguarded, stripped of all his precious pretenses and beautiful for being just another flawed human, wandering the night and hoping for one chance encounter with another restless soul.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy murmured when Harry moved closer, and though his eyes didn't open, his pale eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks.

"Another experiment," Harry whispered.

There was only a moment of hesitation before Harry tentatively brushed his lips over his partner's. Malfoy responded immediately, insistent enough to make his permission clear, but restrained enough to leave Harry wondering if he hadn't just witnessed a moment of gentleness. Emboldened by that possibility, Harry caught Malfoy's lower lip between his and lifted his free hand to cup the side of his partner's face.

The kiss grew deeper, and Harry swept his tongue into Malfoy's mouth, still wondering what the chocolate would have tasted like if he'd had as much courage then as he did now. Their hands parted, and there were fingers sliding through Harry's hair, raking lightly along his scalp and sending shivers down his spine. Groaning, he moved closer, trapping Malfoy between the banister and his body.

Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd been so hard from just a kiss, and the thought that maybe it was because he never _had_ been was quite frankly terrifying. Pulling away just far enough to speak, he admitted, very quietly, "I don't know what I'm doing."

"Neither do I," Malfoy replied in a whisper before reclaiming Harry's mouth in a kiss.

Just like everything else Malfoy said, that statement could have any number of meanings, but Harry's confusion was short lived because there were hands sliding up his back, under his shirt, and something hard pressed against his cock. With an embarrassing whimper, he rocked his hips forward, gratified to hear an answering groan from his partner as their pricks rubbed together through their trousers.

"This is insane," Harry murmured as warm hands settled on his hips to direct their movement.

"Eccentric," Malfoy corrected him with a quiet growl.

"Whatever," Harry gasped, closing his eyes and burying his face in the side of his partner's neck. "Just don't stop."

"Couldn't- ah- even if I tried," Malfoy groaned, tilting his head back and baring his throat for Harry's wandering lips.

This was nothing like fucking Ginny had been, and the mere thought of his ex-wife should have been enough to send Harry fleeing for safety, but it didn't. If anything, the realization somehow freed him from the few good memories he had of the time they'd spent together.

"Harry," Malfoy whined, interrupting his thoughts.

"What?" Harry gasped, pressing more urgently against his partner's trembling body. "Tell me what you need."

"I- harder- can't-" Malfoy replied in a broken sob.

Harry complied immediately, curling his hands over his partner's arse and lifting him onto the railing. It was awkward, especially when Malfoy's legs came up around his waist to pull him closer, but that didn't matter nearly as much as the cock pressed against his, and the hands buried in his hair, and Malfoy's tongue sliding between his lips.

There was no slow build-up, no warning before the slowly burning embers of arousal burst into flames, shooting through Harry's veins and making him bite his lip on a helpless whimper. Malfoy shuddered in his arms and bit his shoulder so hard he was sure there would be bruises, and the mere thought of waking up the next morning with evidence of this encounter on his flesh sent Harry spiraling into white hot oblivion. Clutching his partner as if Malfoy might otherwise disappear, he drove his hips upward, nearly sobbing with relief as his cock throbbed its release against his partner's body.

Shivering, as much from the force of his orgasm as from the cold night air, Harry gripped the banister with one hand, his other arm still firmly locked around his partner's waist. Malfoy's face was buried in the side of his throat, each breath ghosting over sensitized flesh and making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. For a moment, neither of them moved, and Harry knew why.

Moving meant having to return to the real world, where they were Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, not two restless souls who just happened to meet in the lonely hours before dawn.

Unfortunately, Harry failed to take his notoriously rotten luck into account, and just as he was musing the possibility of staying there indefinitely, a window on the second floor slid open.

"They invented beds for a reason, young man," a tired sounding voice called down to them.

Malfoy groaned, and slumped against Harry. "My sincere apologies, Miss O'Brian."

"Go to bed," the elderly woman replied in a hushed tone. "You don't sleep nearly enough- and have that boy make you breakfast! You're too skinny."

The spell thusly broken, Harry gave a snort of laughter, and valiantly attempted to disguise it as a cough. Apparently, his acting skills weren't quite up to par, because Malfoy punched him on the shoulder and pushed him away.

"It isn't funny," Malfoy said with a feigned pout as he slid off the banister and straightened his rumpled clothing.

"She has a point, you know," Harry told him with a grin. "I'll bring you bacon tomorrow."

"I hate you," Malfoy replied, tossing his hair out of his eyes. "Have I mentioned that?"

"Yeah, a couple of times," Harry said thoughtfully. "Hey, uh, I should probably go- we have to be in early."

"Oh," Malfoy murmured.

And there was that uncomfortable silence Harry had been waiting for.

Acutely aware that his skill at dealing with this kind of situation ranked only slightly higher than that of a turnip, he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to leave. Behind him, Malfoy made a quiet sound of protest.

"Yeah?" Harry prompted, pausing on the bottom step to stare up at his partner.

"You never told me what the results of your experiment were," Malfoy said quietly, and was he actually _blushing_?

"I don't know," Harry answered truthfully, wishing he had something better to offer. At worst, he was confused, and at best- well, he was still confused.

"Inconclusive results are better than failure," Malfoy told him, and though his tone was flippant, the set of his jaw wasn't.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Harry replied with a halfhearted grin. When his partner didn't respond, he turned to make his way down the street toward the coming dawn.

"You owe me bacon!" Malfoy called out to him. "Don't think for one second that I'll forget, either."

By the time Harry turned the corner, his grin had widened into a genuine smile.

~*~*~

"What is that?"

"Bacon."

Malfoy eyed the proffered gift dubiously for a moment before glancing up at Harry through the hair that had fallen across his forehead. "Potter," he said very slowly, "I can't believe you actually brought me bacon."

"You are such a git," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. "Take the sodding bacon already."

"You could have at least had the courtesy to bring syrup with it," Malfoy said around a mouthful of grease. "Now go be gullible in your own office- I have work to do."

"You're not fooling anyone, Malfoy; everyone knows you don't actually do anything in here besides build models of dinosaurs out of crumpled up memos," Harry shot back, but moved to the door anyway. "Enjoy your breakfast, Dracon."

A coffee mug shattered against the wall of the corridor just as Harry ducked out of the office, snickering. Keeping his head low, just in case Malfoy was following him, he turned the corner and ran headlong into Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Potter," Shacklebolt greeted him, arching one dark eyebrow, "What are you doing?"

"Dodging bacon," Harry replied with a grin, but upon seeing the very unamused expression on the Head Auror's face, he straightened and waved his hand. "Never mind, what's going on?"

"We've got a lead on the Venice case," Shacklebolt replied slowly. "Were you just in Malfoy's office?"

"Yeah, why?" Harry asked, confused. Granted, he usually avoided this particular section of the building whenever possible, but surely it wasn't _that_ much of a surprise that he'd be in Malfoy's office. They were working on a case together, after all.

"No reason," Shacklebolt replied, the corners of his lips twitching. "Go get Malfoy and meet me in my office in ten."

"Sure," Harry said, "But why are you looking at me like you know something I don't?"

"I know a lot of things you don't, Potter," Shacklebolt told him with a flash of white teeth and a subdued chuckle. "Ten minutes."

With that, he turned and sauntered away- or as close to it as a man with his build could- leaving Harry to stare with confusion at his retreating back.

~*~*~

"Malcom Reynolds and Hayden Faust," Shacklebolt said, offering two thick folders to the men seated at his desk.

Harry accepted the larger of the two and stared down at the photograph clipped to the outside. Malcom Reynolds gazed back at him for a moment before grinning and turning to say something to someone standing outside the frame. The young man looked different without a line of blood welling up from his chest, and Harry swallowed convulsively.

"They just look like normal teenagers," Malfoy commented softly.

"They are," Shacklebolt confirmed with a nod. "Both from relatively normal wizarding families, privately educated at Saint Dow's, model students, popular among their peers."

"What are they doing robbing banks?" Harry wondered aloud, running his fingertips over the photograph.

"Exactly what Malfoy thought," Shacklebolt replied grimly. "Reynolds was betrothed to a girl from Beauxbaton, and Faust's parents didn't approve of his lifestyle, so they ran away together around December of last year."

Uncharacteristically, Malfoy refrained from crowing with triumph. When Harry glanced at him, his partner's gaze was fixed on the folder in his hands.

"The school officials admitted to overhearing rumors that the boys planned to run, but didn't take them seriously," Shacklebolt continued. "So many kids talk about running away from boarding schools, I can't say I blame them."

Harry remembered toying with the idea of running away in his sixth year, and felt a stab of empathy for the two boys. Even if battling a Dark Lord on an annual basis wasn't exactly a normal part of growing up, he still knew what it was like to feel an adolescent's desperation for freedom.

"There's more, though," Shacklebolt said with a tired sigh. "Seems their tragic teenage romance was pretty popular, because the other students set up a fund to help them out- lots of kids contributing weekend pocket money and their allowance- and by the time they left, they had at least a couple hundred galleons."

"That sounds like a lot of money when you're sixteen," Malfoy recalled quietly. "It's not enough to survive in the real world, though, at least not for long."

"And it's pretty much impossible to get a job in the wizarding world when you're still underage," Harry added. "But why so much? Why not smaller sums?"

"They were desperate," Malfoy said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "And young, and stupid."

"For once, I agree with you," Shacklebolt conceded. "If we were talking about two kids with troubled pasts- but I think they're just scared, and don't know what they're doing."

"Shit," Harry said, sliding the folder across the desk and rubbing his palms over his face. "This was a lot easier when we thought they were criminal masterminds."

"The trouble is, they might grow into that role," Shacklebolt said seriously. "Our job is to stop them before that happens."

"But what happens to them afterward?" Malfoy asked quietly, still staring at the smiling photo of Hayden Faust. "We can't just send them back to their families, not after what they went through to get away- and Azkaban is _not_ an option."

"No, no," Shacklebolt said quickly. "They'll have to stand trial, but I doubt the Wizengamot is willing to risk bad press by making them serve time; more than likely, they'll be given house arrest and probation."

"And the families?" Harry pressed.

"I've already talked to Reynolds' parents, and it sounds like they just want their son home," Shacklebolt replied. "They've already paid the girl's family to break the engagement."

"What about Faust?" Malfoy asked, finally setting the file aside and folding his hands in his lap.

"Faust's case is a little harder," Shacklebolt admitted. "From what I've dug up, his parents don't seem like the type of people who are going to welcome their son home with open arms. _Fortunately_ , he turns seventeen in a month, and depending on his sentence, that means he'll be free to do whatever he wants, with whoever he wants. _Unfortunately_ , that means we don't have much time to bring him in, if we want to get him on the stand as a minor."

"We don't know where they went, though," Harry pointed out. "The only leads we've had on their locations have come in _after_ the robberies, and I doubt they're going to be trying that again any time soon."

"They're still in Italy," Malfoy said thoughtfully, tapping his chin with a forefinger. "I'm sure they thought we were from the Italian Council, and the look on Hayden's face after- just trust me, they're still there."

"We don't have time for hunches, Malfoy," Shacklebolt chided him.

"We don't have time to sit around waiting for something better to come along, either," Malfoy shot back venomously. "Hayden wants revenge, and if he thinks we're from Italy, he's going to stay there until he gets it."


	6. The Venice Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter was one of the youngest Aurors in history. He was the Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Who Lived Again. He loved Guinness and Quidditch, and hated pineapple. He wrote letters to Hagrid every Thursday, and on Sundays, he visited Hermione and Ron. Harry Potter was also not gay.

  
" _This_ is a proper vehicle for a high speed chase."

Harry nodded weakly, and clung to the door handle for dear life as the car skidded around a corner to the sound of honking horns and a few shouted expletives in Italian. When Shacklebolt told them they had funds at their disposal, Harry was pretty sure the Head Auror hadn't meant for that to be translated as _rent an Aston Martin and run over innocent pedestrians_.

"Malfoy, maybe you should slow down a little," Harry commented in a strangled voice as his partner narrowly missed clipping a Vespa.

"Potter, please tell me you aren't seriously suggesting that I drive too fast," Malfoy replied, shifting into a lower gear to pass a line of traffic. "Roman streets were _made_ for this car."

Harry refrained from pointing out that, technically, Roman streets were made for foot traffic and chariots, and instead said, "I'm suggesting that this car costs more than both our salaries combined, and I really don't want the last thing I see before I die to be your face impaled on a steering column."

"Oh Potter, I didn't know you cared," Malfoy laughed, but slowed nevertheless.

"Tell me again why we're in Rome instead of Venice?" Harry said once his stomach had descended from his throat. "I'd kill for a nice, slow gondola ride right now."

"Because the headquarters for the Italian Council is in Rome, and Shacklebolt wants them to keep an eye on our case," Malfoy replied with a sneer. "Really, I'm beginning to think he doesn't trust our judgment."

"Fancy that," Harry muttered dryly.

Two days later, they still hadn't talked about what Harry was privately referring to as The Stair Scandal, and really, he was okay with that. Whenever they finally got around to discussing it, _if_ they ever discussed it, he wanted to come to the conversation prepared with something a little more eloquent than, ' _I still think you're an irritating git, but I don't hate you anymore, and the whole rubbing bit was pretty brilliant._ ' No, decidedly not.

"Here we are," Malfoy announced, skidding to a halt in front of the hotel and sending the valet attendants diving for safety. "See? I told you we'd make it here safe and sound."

Harry glared at the side of his partner's head as Malfoy climbed out of the car and grudgingly relinquished the keys to one of the attendants. After a moment, he followed suit, muttering under his breath, "That depends on your definition of _sound_."

~*~*~

"Why are you being so moody?"

"I'm not."

"Sullen, then."

"I am _not_ being sullen."

Malfoy carefully fished an olive out of his martini and tossed it at Harry, who batted it away irritably. It rolled beneath a nearby table, and they both stared at it for a few moments until Malfoy sighed and leaned back in his chair.

Harry pushed the salad around on his plate a bit before taking a gulp of Guinness and repeating the process. Really, he should have known better than to accept the irritating git's dinner invitation after their initial briefing at the Council, but alcohol had sounded like a very good idea at the time.

"Definitely sullen," his partner observed dryly. "Is it because you're gay?"

Choking on air, Harry brought his napkin to his lips and glared across the table. "I'm not-" he began, but faltered.

Malfoy smirked knowingly and took a sip of his martini. "You didn't actually think you were going to get away with not talking about it, did you?"

"I really don't think there's anything to talk about," Harry replied, tossing his napkin down on the table and folding his arms over his chest. "Ever."

"I do," his partner told him calmly. "You don't have one off with a colleague on the front steps of his apartment building and then pretend it never happened."

"I'm not pretending it never happened," Harry protested, waving his hands in the universal _keep your voice down_ gesture.

"Yes you are," said Malfoy, who of course _raised_ his voice instead of shutting the hell up. "It's understandable that you're uncomfortable with the fact that a man made you come just from rubbing you through your trousers."

"Oh my god," Harry groaned, and buried his face in his hands as the couple at a nearby table took a sudden interest in the conversation.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about," Malfoy told him. "Some men don't figure it out until they're married and raising a brood of vile demonspawn; you should be thankful you're coming out of the closet before you're too old to shag up against walls."

"Please shut up," Harry muttered to his palms. "Please, please shut up."

"That position is so hard on the back," Malfoy said thoughtfully, pretending to have not heard his partner's pleas for mercy. "Anyway, now that you're gay, you really should do something about that tragedy on your head- I'm pretty sure there are laws against gay men having bad hair."

"That's it," Harry said, pushing away from the table and standing. "I'm done."

"But they haven't even brought the first course yet," Malfoy whined up at him, his shoulders quaking with barely contained laughter.

"I'm sure the chicken marsala will appreciate your conversational skills," Harry told him with a glare, and turned to make his way out of the restaurant.

Of course, he didn't actually believe he was going to get away that easily, and sure enough, just as he turned the corner toward their hotel, he heard the distinct click of Malfoy's boots on the sidewalk behind him. Counting to ten in his head, to keep himself from turning and hexing the bastard straight back to England, Harry ground his teeth together and quickened his pace.

Malfoy caught up with him as they reached the front doors of the hotel, and ushered him into the lobby with an overly dramatic bow and a smirk. Harry resolutely ignored him and made his way toward the lifts, jabbing randomly at the buttons until they protested with a beep.

"It's not nice to walk out on your date, Potter," Malfoy admonished him with feigned indignation.

"I'm not talking to you," Harry replied, resolutely ignoring the little voice in his head that wondered why he'd said that instead of pointing out that it wasn't a date.

"That's okay," Malfoy said as the doors of the lift slid open, "I can find other ways of keeping your mouth occupied."

Harry only managed a tiny squeak of protest as he was unceremoniously shoved into the waiting elevator and pressed against the wall by a surprisingly strong arm. Too dazed to react, he watched with confusion as Malfoy's hand shot out to smack one of the buttons on the panel.

"Wha-?" Harry began as the lift came to an abrupt halt.

"Muggle hotel," Malfoy reminded him.

Harry's weak ' _oh_ ' was muffled by the sudden, insistent pressure of his partner's lips. Making a rather embarrassing sound in the back of his throat, he brought his hands up to push Malfoy away, but they were caught and pinned to the wall above his head.

"These- ah-" Harry gasped as his partner's lips brushed the side of his face and moved down the line of his neck, "These elevator scenes never work out in real life the way they do in the movies."

"Hmm," Malfoy hummed, torturing his captive's collarbone with his tongue. "I don't watch movies."

"I- uh- it won't stay stopped for long," Harry told him distractedly. The hand holding his wrists was warm, too warm, and he was almost grateful when deft fingers unbuttoned the front of his shirt and pulled the fabric apart.

"That's okay," Malfoy murmured against his chest, "If your wanking at the office is any indication, this won't last long either."

"I don't wank at the office," Harry protested halfheartedly as his wrists were released and his partner's breath ghosted over his stomach. Honestly, his body had no business reacting the way it did to the fingertips that skated over his ribs and rubbed tiny circles against his hipbones.

"Yeah you do," Malfoy whispered against his lower abdomen, just over the waistband of his trousers. "Everyone's done it at least once."

That confession didn't help matters at all, but try as he might, Harry couldn't banish the image of his partner lounging in the leather chair behind his desk, slender fingers wrapped around swollen flesh and grey eyes heavy with lust. Biting his lip to stifle a whimper, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the wall of the lift. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he gripped the brass railing behind his back to keep himself upright.

"Fuck," Malfoy cursed quietly, pressing the heel of his palm against Harry's erection through his trousers. "You have no idea what you look like right now, Potter."

Harry opened one eye to peer down at his partner as Malfoy tugged the front of his trousers open. "What do I look like?" he whispered hoarsely.

Malfoy glanced up at him through the hair that had fallen across his eyes, and pulled the waistband of his pants down to free his now aching cock. "Sex," he murmured.

"Fu- Ma- ah," Harry gasped as the head of his prick was enveloped in the slick heat of his partner's mouth. As a twenty-two year old divorcee, he'd had his share of blow jobs, but none of them could compare to the firm slide of Malfoy's tongue along the underside of his cock, or the sparks of pleasure that raced down his spine as a warm hand cupped his balls.

"You'd better hurry," Malfoy said, drawing away just long enough to speak. There was a devilish gleam in his eyes as he wrapped his hand around the base of Harry's prick and gave the head a long, slow lick.

Really, that wasn't going to be a problem if Malfoy kept that up. Arching away from the wall with a helpless groan, Harry twisted his hips impatiently as his partner smirked up at him. The silent question was rewarded with another swipe of a hot tongue, and Harry praised him with a stream of unintelligible expletives.

"I- you-" Harry babbled. Every touch seemed to be magnified tenfold- the hot breath just before Malfoy's lips closed around him, the light pressure of his partner's fingernails against his inner thigh- even the air against his exposed nipples was almost agonizing.

"You, me, what?" Malfoy asked quietly, sounding amused and aroused in equal measures. The question was followed by another firm lick, and Harry suddenly forgot what he'd meant to say.

Actually, his capacity for human language in general seemed to have disappeared- not that he'd had a firm grasp on it to begin with- as he was slowly reduced to nothing more than a writhing, needy creature beneath Malfoy's hands. Far past caring about the embarrassing sounds he was making, Harry pushed his hips forward in a silent demand for more.

Acquiescing, Malfoy stopped teasing and set to work in earnest, gripping his partner's thighs to hold him in place. Growling with relief, Harry threw his head back against the wall and threaded his fingers through Malfoy's hair, more to hold himself up than to direct the movement of the absolutely brilliant mouth that seemed intent upon ripping his soul out through his cock.

It felt like dying- or at least, what Harry had always imagined dying would feel like: complete surrender, absolute freedom, the kind of peace that can only come from knowing that you're well and truly _fucked_ , and there's no going back. When he was younger, he'd dreamt of eternal freefalls; of weightless ecstasy and the rush of wind in his ears; of dazzling sunlight above, bright white nothing below, and-

The lift gave a violent lurch and started moving again.

"Son of a fucking bitch!" Harry cursed as his cock slid out of Malfoy's mouth with a wet pop, and his partner fell backwards in an undignified sprawl. Hating elevators, orgasms, Draco Malfoy, and the world at large- in that order- he struggled with the trousers that had bunched up around his knees, and managed to tuck his very indignant erection back into his pants just as the doors of the lift slid open.

A middle aged couple stared back at them.

Ever the Brat Prince of Slytherin, Malfoy gracefully climbed to his feet and straightened his shirt before offering the gawking couple a polite smile and sauntering past them. Harry, for his part, could only summon enough courage to clear his throat uncomfortably and mumble an apology. Ducking his head, he rushed out of the lift, blushing furiously.

"Ah, to be young again," the woman said as he hurried down the corridor, and Harry wondered how the Wizengamot dealt with Aurors who killed their partners while they slept.


	7. The Venice Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter was one of the youngest Aurors in history. He was the Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Who Lived Again. He loved Guinness and Quidditch, and hated pineapple. He wrote letters to Hagrid every Thursday, and on Sundays, he visited Hermione and Ron. Harry Potter was also not gay.

  
Harry Potter was one of the most highly trained professionals in the wizarding world. He had survived countless battles with no more than a handful of scars to show for it. The extent of his self control was the stuff of legends, and he prided himself on being able to stay calm even in the most stressful situations.

Therefore, Harry Potter was _not_ going to wank over Draco Malfoy.

Since his first mantra was pretty much turning out to be a spectacular failure, he'd decided that maybe he should start with something easier. After all, not wanking to the memory of Malfoy's mouth on his cock was definitely a step in the _not gay_ direction.

Harry curled his fingers around the armrests of the chair until his fingernails bit into the upholstery.

Malfoy had been in the shower for almost an hour, which was more than enough time even for a _girl_ , and Harry adamantly refused to think about what the bastard might be doing in there. It was probably the hair, he told himself reasonably, and not at all sure he believed it.

It was a well known fact that the concept of fairness was completely lost on Malfoy, but this was really going too far. Harry was so hard it hurt, and meanwhile, the irritating git was probably having his third orgasm of the night.

Which Harry was pointedly _not_ thinking about.

By the time the bathroom door opened and Malfoy emerged in a haze of steam, Harry was furious. It must have shown on his face, because his partner paused mid-step and narrowed his eyes, clutching the towel around his waist like it could serve as a shield against impending doom.

"What's your problem?" Malfoy snapped.

"Did you wank?" Harry shot back, gripping the armrests of the chair.

"Excuse me?" Malfoy replied, eyes widening with shock.

"I am asking you if you masturbated," Harry said slowly.

"P-Potter?" Malfoys didn't stammer. It just wasn't done.

"Come here," Harry demanded gruffly, and was vaguely surprised when his partner hesitantly obeyed. Once Malfoy was close enough, Harry reached out and snatched the towel away, ignoring his partner's indignant cry of protest.

Even flaccid, Malfoy's cock was impressive, and despite the rather bizarre interaction they were sharing, he made no move to cover himself. Instead, he placed his hands on his hips and glared down at Harry with a haughty expression.

"Do be sure to let me know when you're finished staring," Malfoy said icily. "I'm tired, and I don't have the patience to play along with your fucked up games tonight."

"Answer the question," Harry snapped, meeting his partner's eyes. "Did you wrap your hand around your prick and stroke yourself to orgasm, yes or no?"

Malfoy swallowed and took a step backward, but Harry reached out to catch his wrist and hold him in place. The question seemed to have affected the stubborn bastard in an entirely different manner than it was meant to, because his cock twitched and began to rise.

"No," Malfoy spat finally, and whether the intense blush that crept across his cheeks was from embarrassment or anger was anyone's guess.

"Why?" Harry demanded, refusing to relinquish his grip on his partner's wrist.

"It- Because I don't like wanking in the shower," Malfoy ground out from between clenched teeth. "Are you done interrogating me about my masturbation habits?"

"You're a bastard," Harry replied, ignoring the question entirely.

"So you and the rest of the world have told me on numerous occasions," Malfoy shot back. "What did I do this time?"

By way of reply, Harry jerked his partner's wrist until Malfoy stumbled and fell into his lap with a surprised squeak. Rocking his hips upward to press his clothed erection against his partner's arse, Harry growled, " _This._ "

"Oh _fuck_ ," Malfoy gasped, eyes fluttering closed and fingers curling in the fabric of Harry's shirt.

"I should just leave you like this," Harry hissed into his victim's ear, getting a sadistic thrill from knowing that Malfoy was now just as aroused as he was. The fact that feeling his partner's cock rub against his stomach only made him harder didn't count as a point against _not gay_ , he told himself; this was just revenge.

"Potter," Malfoy whined, and twisted until his knees were on either side of Harry's hips.

"I should do what you did to me," Harry continued quietly, emboldened by his own anger. "Tease you until you're almost there, and then leave you alone, hard and wishing you hadn't been such a bastard, because Merlin knows you're not going to get yourself off while thinking about me."

"It's too late for that," Malfoy whispered.

It took a moment for the confession to penetrate the haze of furious desire, but when it did, Harry surrendered to it with a quiet, "Fuck."

Malfoy's mouth was feverishly hot, and Harry explored it with his tongue, imagining he could taste the fire that had always fueled their mutual animosity. There were hands in his hair, clutching his shoulders, pressed against the side of his neck like anything less might make him disappear.

Maybe he would have, without Malfoy's weight bearing down on him to hold him in place. Every nerve in his body was wired and weightless with need, his spine curving as fingernails scraped his chest through his shirt, tore at the buttons and finally the fabric, because gentle wasn't fast enough, hard enough, violent enough to give either of them what they needed.

Malfoy gasped as Harry bowed his head to worry the side of his partner's neck with his teeth. The damp flesh was warm in his mouth, and he swept his tongue across it, already imagining the bruises he was surely leaving behind. Ginny had always accused him of being possessive, jealous, and maybe she'd been right all along, because he knew that the marks meant he was laying claim to Malfoy's body, even if it was just for one night.

There was a pause as they worked in unison on the buttons at the front of Harry's trousers, but once his cock was free and pressed against Malfoy's thigh, neither bothered to remove them entirely. Kissing was much more interesting, and wandering hands meant they didn't have time to think about what exactly it was that they were doing.

"I want to be inside you," Harry groaned to his partner's throat. If he could, he would have torn Malfoy open and clawed his way inside, sunk his teeth into every pretense and ripped them apart, because he wanted to see if there was a human being behind the frosted glass; wanted proof that the Draco Malfoy who talked in his sleep and ate sugar cubes straight out of the jar when he thought no one was looking wasn't an illusion; wanted to stand face-to-face with the flawed and devastatingly beautiful creature he'd glimpsed in those rare moments when Malfoy wasn't paying attention.

Wanted a second chance to close the distance between one frightened first year's hand and another's.

"Harry," Malfoy breathed, rocking against him in an urgent rhythm. The sharp features of his face were softened by the flush on his cheeks, and his kiss-bruised lips were parted on a quiet exhalation.

"Show me what to do," Harry requested in a whisper, settling his hands on his partner's hips to still them. Any other time, he wouldn't have been so willing confess his naivety, but it was hard to be embarrassed when Draco Malfoy, the real Draco Malfoy, was staring down at him like he was the only person in the world who mattered.

Maybe, just for those few breathless moments, he was. Maybe they both were.

Without looking away, Malfoy brought Harry's hand to his lips, and sucked two fingers into his mouth. The muscles in his throat worked as he swirled his tongue over his partner's fingertips, and Harry gave in to the urge to brush his lips over the side of Malfoy's neck.

"Like this," Malfoy murmured, releasing the fingers from his mouth and guiding them between his parted thighs.

Swallowing convulsively, Harry circled his partner's opening with the tip of his forefinger. It had been far too long since the last time he touched anyone but himself, and he frantically tried to recall what his female partners had liked when he'd done this to them. It wasn't the same, he knew, but since he lacked any other experience, it would have to be enough.

Apparently, sex was very much like riding a broomstick, and Harry choked on nervous laughter as Malfoy hissed with pleasure.

"Relax," Malfoy murmured, opening one eye to stare down at him. "This isn't neurosurgery, Potter, you're not going to hurt me."

Somewhat relieved, Harry pushed past the tight ring of muscle, and couldn't quite stifle a groan as his partner's body clenched around his finger. It was hot, and impossibly tight, and there was no way-

"It will fit," Malfoy assured him, as if reading his mind.

Harry shot him a disbelieving look, but his cock twitched against his abdomen at the thought of being inside his partner's body. Slowly, he withdrew his finger, and gasped when Malfoy immediately pushed back against it.

"Ah- Anoth-"

Before Malfoy could finish the request, Harry slid a second finger in alongside the first, smirking at his partner's quiet whimper. Gradually, the muscles relaxed, and he shifted his hand experimentally until his fingertips brushed something that ripped a sharp cry from Malfoy's throat.

Concerned he'd done something wrong, Harry paused to search his partner's face for any sign of pain.

" _Potter_ ," Malfoy growled, "Do that again, or I swear to fucking Merlin, Circe, and dear old Salazar's grave that I will kill you while you sleep."

Grinning, Harry shut him up with another deep thrust of his fingers. They fell into a rhythm that grew more and more frantic until Malfoy stopped abruptly and opened his eyes.

"Stop," he panted, gripping Harry's wrist.

"Why?" Harry replied, shifting uncomfortably. The ache in his lower abdomen hadn't abated in the slightest, and his cock was steadily leaking precome against his stomach.

"Because I don't want to come yet," Malfoy replied, guiding Harry's fingers out of his body. "And because I want you to fuck me."

Of all the ideas Malfoy had come up with over the years, that was by far the best.

Harry watched through a haze of arousal as his partner wrapped slender fingers around his prick to hold it steady. There was a beat of silence, a quiet exhalation, and then Malfoy murmured, "Let me do this part."

Nodding distractedly, Harry concentrated all of his remaining willpower on not thrusting up into the tight heat that was slowly enveloping his prick. The restless need to grab Malfoy's hips and fuck him senseless was almost painful, consideration be damned. By the time his cock was fully buried in his partner's body, Harry was certain he'd bitten all the way through his lip.

"Give me a minute," Malfoy told him, rubbing tiny circles on Harry's shoulders; then, his fingers tightened, his eyes opened, and he whispered, "Fuck me."

It might as well have been an incantation, for the speed with which Harry reacted to the command. Wrapping both arms around Malfoy's waist, he withdrew almost completely before slamming home again with a growl. It was raw, it lacked anything that could have conceivably been called finesse, and it was so fucking _good_ that Harry could feel his orgasm threatening to overtake him after only a few thrusts.

"Fuck," Malfoy groaned, the muscles in his thighs trembling against Harry's sides. "Harder- Harry, _please_."

It was absurd that the first time Harry would hear sincerity in that word on those lips would be while his cock was buried to the hilt inside Malfoy's body, but there it was, a demand and a plea in a single breath. Suddenly unwilling to deny his partner anything, Harry moved his hands to Malfoy's hips and met him on a downward thrust that left both of them gasping for breath.

"So close," Malfoy whined, his hand moving to his cock. Harry covered it with one of his own, and tightened his grip as he leaned up to claim his partner's lips in a kiss. Almost immediately, Malfoy's body tensed, and he came with a sobbed, nearly unintelligible declaration of praise that sounded very much like, "Thank you."

In less than a heartbeat, the blurred edges of their shared universe sharpened, and Harry understood, _knew_ without doubt that he was well and truly fucked- and there was no time to wonder just how it had come this far, because he was falling again, white light and rushing wind, plummeting through nothingness with nothing there to catch him, nothing to stand in the way of the sublime knowledge that this time, _this_ time, he would finally hit the bottom.

~*~*~

Someone was tapping on his arm.

Harry lay still as he counted, not sure he was actually awake, because he didn't remember anything being as soft or warm as the cotton sheets that were pressed against the side of his face.

 _One, two, three, four…_

Harry smiled.

 _Eleven, twelve, thirteen…_

A pause.

Harry rolled over with a yawn and stretched his arms above his head. It was still night, and the streetlamps outside cast a subdued yellow glow across the ceiling. "Fourteen," he whispered.

"I guess this means I don't get to make up an elaborate lie to tell Shacklebolt about how you died," Malfoy murmured from beside him. "No wonder you never get laid, Potter- do you always pull a fainting act after you come?"

"Only when I hit the bottom," Harry replied with a private grin.

Malfoy sniffed quietly. "And you have the nerve to call _me_ insane."

"How'd I get in here?" Harry asked, turning to stare at his partner.

Malfoy's eyes were closed, and his hair was tousled from sex and sleep. Despite the usual disdain in his voice, this was the rare creature Harry had been searching for, and he had to restrain himself from reaching out to pull the other man closer.

Besides, Harry had a feeling that the distance between them wasn't quite as great as it had once been.

"I moved you," Malfoy murmured sleepily. "Didn't want housekeeping to find your half naked body sprawled in the sitting area- might have aroused suspicion."

Harry snorted quietly and rolled onto his side. In pure Malfoy fashion, his partner had stolen all the pillows, and Harry thought that was as good an excuse as any to slide closer. There was an indignant huff, but nothing more.

Not having much experience in the realm of waking up next to a former arch-nemesis after sharing an unexpected shag, Harry wondered if he was supposed to be saying something in the silence that followed. There were an infinite number of possibilities that ranged from expressing his lingering uncertainty to offering to sleep elsewhere, but he had a feeling that none of them would go over very well.

"Contemplative silence has never been your forte, Potter," Malfoy mumbled into the pillow.

Laughing softly, Harry shook his head and closed his eyes. The back of his partner's hand brushed his knuckles, and he closed his fingers around it, giving it a gentle squeeze; then smiled when, a moment later, Malfoy responded with a quiet snore.


	8. The Venice Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter was one of the youngest Aurors in history. He was the Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Who Lived Again. He loved Guinness and Quidditch, and hated pineapple. He wrote letters to Hagrid every Thursday, and on Sundays, he visited Hermione and Ron. Harry Potter was also not gay.

  
"Tell me again why we're not just apparating to Venice?" Harry muttered as the Aston Martin needlessly swerved from one lane into another.

"Why apparate when we have such a sublime piece of wizarding machinery at our disposal?" Malfoy replied, accelerating around a bend in the highway.

"Because it's a five hour drive?" Harry ventured. "And this isn't a sublime piece of wizarding machinery; it was made in a Muggle factory in Warwickshire."

"Shut your filthy mouth, or you're walking to Venice," Malfoy told him, but the smirk on his lips betrayed the outrage in his voice.

"I'm really tired of your cheek, Malfoy," Harry shot back, only barely suppressing his own amusement.

"I'm really tired of your face," Malfoy retorted, and flicked the stereo on before his partner could reply.

O Fortuna heralded their rapid approach toward the rear of a lorry, which they avoided colliding with at the very last second physics would allow, and Harry buried his face in his hands. "I'm trapped in James Bond: The Musical," he told his fingers.

"Mecum omnes plangite!" Malfoy replied.

~*~*~

"Would you stop that?" Harry hissed.

Malfoy paused, hand hovering over his mouth in mid-air, and sneered. Defiantly, he dropped another pinch of popping candy onto his tongue, and smirked as the crackling echoed off the walls of the alleyway they were crouched in.

Blowing his fringe away from his eyes with an irritated huff, Harry shook his head and turned his attention back to the window they had been watching for the last two hours.

Correction: the window _he_ had been watching for the last two hours while Malfoy gorged himself on sweets, whined a bit, and generally made a nuisance of himself.

"They're not in there, Potter," Malfoy whispered, suddenly very close behind him.

Harry gave a violent start and shot a glare over his shoulder. "Not that you'd know."

Malfoy offered an affronted sniff, but no defense. Instead, he slid his arms around his partner's waist.

"Er," Harry began uncertainly. "What are you doing?"

"I'm tired and you're comfortable," Malfoy explained, pressing up against his back. There was a slight chill in the early evening air, carried in off the canals, but his body was pleasantly warm through the thin fabric of their shirts.

"You're not using me as a human pillow," Harry told him, rolling his eyes. Of course, he didn't exactly pull away, either.

That reaction, or lack thereof, was a perfect example of how the situation between them had become ten times more complicated, literally overnight.

Of course, whole thing had started with that first kiss on the balcony of their hotel, and grown exponentially more absurd with every passing day, to the point that Harry wasn't at all surprised to find himself kneeling in a dark alleyway with Draco Malfoy snuggled up behind him, breathing softly on the back of his neck.

That wasn't what was bothering him, though.

Harry didn't mind Malfoy's sudden fondness for semi-public displays of affection, or the fact that it seemed to come so naturally to both of them. Sometime over the course of the previous night, they'd found their way into one another's arms, and instead of immediately separating when they woke, they'd stayed there blinking at each other until Malfoy's inevitable demands for coffee forced them out of bed; and Harry was fine with that. When their hands had somehow become intertwined while they waited for the valet to retrieve the car, Harry hadn't resisted the touch or pulled away. The long drive from Rome to Venice had been interspersed with banter, occasional bickering, and the evolution of a childish game that involved trying to catch each other staring, which Harry found privately amusing.

No, what was bothering him was that he wasn't bothered.

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were enemies. It was as universal a law as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west, the animosity between them a constant and unchangeable presence.

Except, of course, that it wasn't- not anymore- and Harry had no idea what to do about that.

"Potter," Malfoy murmured, interrupting his thoughts, "Assuming our informant is _not_ the insane old woman with forty cats and a teapot collection that she appears to be, and the boys really _are_ hiding in this flat, there's still no one here."

Sighing, Harry ran a hand over his face and conceded defeat. "Fine, but we're coming back tomorrow."

"Oh thank goodness," Malfoy replied, finally pulling away and climbing to his feet. "I thought I might have to spend tomorrow doing something _interesting_."

"We should probably just spend the night in Venice," Harry said, ignoring his partner's sarcasm. "There's no sense going all the way back to Rome, if we're just coming right back here in the morning."

"I'm not getting out of bed before ten o'clock, Potter," Malfoy told him, crossing his arms over his chest and yawning.

"Eight o'clock at the latest," Harry replied, shaking his head. "We don't know what kind of schedule they keep, and we need to be here as early as possible."

"Nine thirty," Malfoy shot back.

"This isn't a- oh for fuck's sake, eight thirty," Harry sighed, taking his partner by the elbow and steering him toward the canals.

"Nine o'clock, and you're buying me bacon and coffee before we leave the hotel."

~*~*~

"Sors immanis et inanis, rota tu volubilis, status malus, vana salus, semper dissolubilis…"

Harry rolled his eyes at the doorway of the bathroom when the refrain was underscored by a loud splash. Malfoy had been humming that damned song for most of the evening, and now his voice was quietly echoing through the suite, just loud enough to be distracting.

Pushing the door open, Harry peered around it at his partner. Malfoy was lounging in the bathtub, which was dangerously close to overflowing, head tilted back against the rim and eyes closed. A half-eaten green apple dangled from his hand, dripping juice down his fingers and onto the floor.

"Either come in or leave, but close the door," Malfoy murmured. "You're letting the warm air out."

"Do you ever stop eating?" Harry asked as he pushed the door shut and leaned back against it. All but one of the bulbs above the sink had been unscrewed, and the single light cast a dim yellow glow over the room. It made it hard to focus on his partner's face, so Harry moved closer until he was standing above the bathtub.

Malfoy opened one eye and stared up at him. "This from the man who brought me bacon because I'm apparently too thin?"

"I brought you bacon because you wanted it," Harry confessed, dropping to one knee beside the tub and trailing his fingertips through the warm water. "Good apple?"

"Not nearly as good as my mother's orchard, but passable," Malfoy conceded, lifting the fruit to his partner's lips. "Here, taste."

Both of Malfoy's eyes were open now, dark grey in the dim light of the bathroom. Harry's knuckles brushed his partner's torso as he bowed his head and sank his teeth into the jagged rim that Malfoy's had left behind. It was intensely erotic somehow, and he shifted a bit to relieve pressure on his growing erection.

"Messy," Malfoy chided him softly, curling his wrist to show the trickle of juice on the back of his hand.

"My sincere apologies, Mister Malfoy," Harry replied in a murmur, holding his partner's gaze as he leaned in to follow the drop with his tongue.

Malfoy pulled his lower lip between his teeth as his partner's hand slid beneath the surface of the water. Licking a slow path across sticky knuckles, and not caring in the least that the sleeve of his shirt was now soaked, Harry brushed the pad of his thumb over the head of Malfoy's cock.

"Harry," his partner breathed, hips jerking just enough to make the water splash against the side of the bathtub.

"Messy," Harry admonished quietly as a few drops landed on the front of his shirt. Smirking, he circled the base of his partner's cock with a thumb and forefinger, using the rest of his hand to cup Malfoy's balls. The apple fell into the bathwater with a splash as his tongue slid up his partner's fingers, and he drew the wet digits into his mouth with a hum.

"Oh god," Malfoy groaned, eyes fluttering closed and full lips parting on a shuddering sigh. The notoriously immaculate blond hair was damp, clinging to his pale forehead and flushed cheeks.

Breath catching in his throat, Harry released his partner's fingers and leaned in for a slow, lingering kiss. Malfoy's lips were soft, sweet with the taste of apples, and Harry ran his tongue across them, teasing another quiet whimper from his partner's throat.

"What are we doing?" Harry whispered, staring down at his former enemy through a haze of desire.

Their lips were less than a centimeter apart, and they brushed when Malfoy murmured, "You're going to fuck me in this bathtub."

A shiver of arousal raced down Harry's spine, and he had to close his eyes for a moment to restrain the urge to slip into the warm water and do just that. When he opened them again, his partner was gazing up at him from beneath lowered lashes, and his heart leapt into his throat. Tightening his hold on Malfoy's cock, causing his partner to gasp and thrust against his hand, Harry shook his head slowly.

"No," he began in a hoarse whisper, "This- _us_ \- what are we doing, Draco?"

Malfoy stared up at him for a moment, and when he licked his lips, Harry was tempted to forget the question entirely. But he knew that this may be his one chance to get a straightforward answer, and despite the ache that was slowly spreading through his lower abdomen, he was determined to maintain his self-control long enough to hear his partner's response.

"I don't know," Malfoy admitted softly, "But I think-"

A loud thud just outside the bathroom broke the warm connection that flowed between them, and they both tensed simultaneously. Driven by instincts honed by years of experience, Harry slowly withdrew his hand from the water and reached for his wand. A moment later, Malfoy caught his own wand between his outstretched fingertips as it sailed through the air from the heap of clothing beside the sink.

There was a beat of silence, and they glanced at one another from the corners of their eyes.

"Go," Malfoy mouthed.

They were up and through the door of the bathroom in an instant, startling the two boys who were just collecting themselves off the floor below the bedroom window. Harry raised his wand to parry a lightning curse, which went flying in the opposite direction and struck the lamp on the nightstand. Amidst the crackle of electricity and shattering glass, someone shouted " _Incendio_ " and the curtains went up in a burst of orange light.

" _Glacium!_ " Harry directed the spell at the window, and frost immediately formed around the blaze, flames etched in ice against the smoldering drapes.

Beside him, Malfoy shouted a binding spell, and one of the two teenagers grunted as he struggled with the ropes and finally dispelled them. They weren't using glamours this time, and Harry found himself staring into the bright blue eyes of Malcom Reynolds as the boy turned to face him.

There was a stunning spell on his lips, but a sudden movement from the corner of his eye distracted him just long enough to interrupt the incantation.

"No!" Faust shouted, lunging at Malfoy and catching him around the waist.

Harry whirled on them, but the wand was at his partner's throat before he could do anything to stop it. Raising his own, he pointed it at the boy's head and growled, "Let him go."

"Fuck you," the teenager spat, jabbing the tip of his wand into the side of his captive's neck.

"Harry, don't move," Malfoy said quietly. Though he still held his own wand between his fingertips, it was pointed at some place over his partner's shoulder, and Harry knew without looking that Reynolds was standing just behind him.

"Alright, everyone just calm down," Harry said, struggling to maintain his composure.

"Yeah, things look a little different when it's _your_ boyfriend with a wand to his throat, don't they?" Faust hissed, green eyes glinting with anger.

"No one has to be in danger, here," Harry replied, not bothering to correct him. "Not us _or_ you."

"Bullshit," Faust shot back. "You almost killed Malcom."

"That was a mistake," Malfoy said quietly, and choked when the boy's arm tightened around his neck. "A lot like the one you're making right now."

Faust said nothing.

"Think about it," Malfoy continued in a strangled tone. "You might have a wand to my throat, but there's a highly trained Auror with _his_ wand pointed at your head. What do you think your chances are of killing both of us before one of us kills one of you?"

"I don't want to kill anyone," Reynolds whispered shakily. "I just- we-"

"It's okay, Mal," Faust said, his voice softening as he gazed past Harry's shoulder. "It'll be okay, I promise."

"Do you understand how incredibly stupid it was for you to come here?" Malfoy went on in that smooth, dangerous tone Harry knew all too well. "Do you realize we could have killed you before you even knew we were in the room?"

"That's bullshit," Faust snapped. "You're not allowed to kill underage wizards."

"I'm not allowed to do a lot of things," Malfoy drawled, his head falling back onto the teenager's shoulder.

Harry shivered, because the Draco Malfoy who licked his lips and slid one hand across the boy's arm was not the Draco Malfoy who talked in his sleep and sang to his coffee- this was Draco Malfoy, the former Death Eater, and one of the most powerful wizards Harry had ever known.

"Unfortunately, I've never been one for rules that don't suit me," Malfoy continued in a lazy purr, "And right now, you're really testing my patience for thou shalt not murder stupid little boys who threaten thy life."

Faust actually had the audacity to laugh. "Bollocks."

Harry's arm ached with the sudden need to hex the pompous little bastard straight back to England. Did the boy even realize who he was talking to? Obviously, the two amateur criminal masterminds were sharp enough to have found their pursuers, but hadn't bothered to research just who they'd be up against.

Young and desperate, Malfoy had said.

"Potter," Malfoy drawled, "I get the distinct impression Mister Faust doesn't believe we have what it takes to kill someone."

"P-Potter?" Reynolds stammered, and Harry heard him take a step backwards.

"You know, I get the same feeling, Malfoy," Harry replied evenly.

Faust's eyes widened slightly. "Malfoy?"

"Charmed, I'm sure," Malfoy drawled, and then, " _Expelliarmus_."

Seizing the opportunity, Harry whirled on Reynolds and did the same, catching the boy's wand between his fingertips and shoving it into the waistband of his trousers.

Both teenagers immediately lunged at the two Aurors, fear in their eyes and desperation in their fists. Harry grudgingly admired their willingness to keep fighting, even with certain defeat looming on the horizon, and he couldn't help but think he saw a reflection of himself in Reynolds' eyes as he caught the boy around the waist and threw him backwards across the bed.

Malfoy followed suit, and Faust landed atop his lover with a muffled grunt just as the ropes shot out from the end of Harry's wand to bind their ankles and wrists. They squirmed for a moment, all tousled hair and bared teeth, until exhaustion seemed to get the better of them and they fell together in a panting, glaring heap of adolescent limbs.

"Fucking teenagers," Malfoy said, blowing his still damp hair out of his eyes.

"How long do you think we should leave them here before we call the Ministry?" Harry wondered aloud.

" _Don't_!" Reynolds interjected, his blue eyes wide with fear. Faust looked equally terrified, and suddenly they were just two scared teenagers who had found themselves in over their heads with no way back.

Well and truly fucked, Harry thought ruefully.

"Please don't make us go back there," Faust said quietly. "You don't know what it's like to feel trapped because you don't want to be what everyone wants you to be."

"Yeah, actually, I do," Harry said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Both boys immediately backed up against the headboard, drawing their legs up close to their bodies and staring down at him like he'd just threatened to use them for target practice.

Sighing, Harry glanced at his partner, who had apparently retrieved a towel from the bathroom at some point. Malfoy stared back at him with an uncharacteristically neutral expression.

"Stay here," Harry told the boys, as if they had any choice, and stood to cross the room. Once he and his partner were less than a foot apart, he turned his back on the two teenagers and whispered accusatorily, "You don't think we should turn them in, do you?"

"I never said that, Potter," Malfoy whispered back, but didn't deny it.

"They'd only get into more trouble," Harry told him in a hushed tone. "They're confused, and scared, and obviously good at what they do."

Malfoy stared at him.

"They're a danger to themselves and others," Harry continued, gesturing vaguely with his hands.

"So are we," Malfoy pointed out.

"That's different!" Harry protested. "We- Well- You really think we should just let them go?"

Malfoy shrugged.

Harry sighed and glanced over his shoulder. The teenagers had shifted so that Faust had his arms wrapped around his companion in a rather awkward embrace, and Reynolds had buried his face in the side of the other boy's neck. There was a quiet sound, like someone humming, and Harry realized that Faust was singing quietly.

"Fuck," Harry cursed softly, turning back to his partner. "They're just kids."

"How many people do you think said the same thing about us?" Malfoy asked quietly, staring past his partner's shoulder at the two boys.

"We never would have run around robbing banks all over Europe," Harry argued in a whisper, though his tone lacked conviction, even to his own ears.

"No," Malfoy replied, meeting and holding his gaze, "We were never that innocent."

There was a heartbeat of silence, and in the sudden quiet, something Harry couldn't quite name shifted in the space between them. Malfoy's eyes were as clear and open as he'd ever seen them, and in that fraction of a moment, Harry understood that the two frightened boys they'd spent the last week pursuing weren't the teenagers huddled together on the bed behind him.

Somewhere in another lifetime, one terrified first year extended his hand to another.

"We'll let them go," Harry whispered, unable to look away from the grey eyes that stared up at him.

A million galaxies away, an eleven year old boy smiled and caught friendship between his fingertips.


	9. The Venice Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter was one of the youngest Aurors in history. He was the Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Who Lived Again. He loved Guinness and Quidditch, and hated pineapple. He wrote letters to Hagrid every Thursday, and on Sundays, he visited Hermione and Ron. Harry Potter was also not gay.

  
"Hayden Faust, the Wizengamot hereby decrees that all sums be returned to their rightful account holders in no less than ninety days. In addition, you are sentenced to one year of working probation, to be served under the supervision of Severus Snape, Headmaster of Ohkam's School for Boys."

The gavel echoed through the crowded courtroom with a bang, and Harry glanced across the room at Snape, who scowled and nodded briefly before turning back to his conversation with Narcissa Malfoy. Lucius sat by her side, looking as pale and exhausted as Harry felt. Their eyes met briefly, and Harry offered a tiny smile, at which point the former Death Eater huffed and looked away. Apparently, Malfoy hadn't been lying when he'd said it was taking his father longer than expected to recover from his holiday in Azkaban, if the lack of Unforgivables flying at Harry's face was any indication.

Speaking of Malfoy, he was nowhere to be found.

They hadn't had a moment alone together since their interrupted tryst in the bathroom, which meant that Harry had never gotten the chance to ask why Malfoy had made the decision to bring the two boys into custody. There had been a brief, infuriatingly confusing explanation that involved the words 'better future' but nothing more.

Sighing, Harry tugged his fingers through his hair and stood to make his way out of the courtroom. Faust caught his eye as he reached the door, and they shared a brief smile before Harry slipped out into the corridor.

"You know, most people make at least _some_ effort to look presentable when they're in a courtroom," an aristocratic drawl said from behind him.

When Harry turned, Malfoy was casually lounging against a nearby column, arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his lips. Grinning, Harry made his way through the crowd streaming out of the courtroom.

"Hey Malfoy," he said once he'd reached his partner's side, "Where were you?"

"Malcom's sentence hearing," Malfoy replied, gesturing vaguely toward the end of the corridor.

"How'd it go?" Harry inquired, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers and feeling suddenly uncomfortable. Really, what had he been expecting, a kiss hello?

"House arrest for six months for being an accessory," Malfoy told him. "Couple of fines for breaking and entering, but I think Faust got the worst of it."

"Must have taken a lot of courage, taking the fall for the robberies," Harry commented thoughtfully. "I don't think he knew at the time that he'd be tried as a minor."

"Human beings do insane things sometimes, for the people they care about," Malfoy said quietly. Then, he pushed away from the wall and straightened his shirt. "I have a meeting with Shacklebolt in an hour."

"Yeah, I have one at three," Harry replied, silently chiding himself for being disappointed that his partner was leaving.

Correction: his former partner. Now that the case was over, they'd go back to working independently until another job came along that required two or more investigators. The thought of Malfoy working with someone else made him feel slightly nauseated.

"I'll see you at the office, Potter," Malfoy said, turning on his heel and striding down the corridor.

"Hey, Malfoy," Harry called, "You never told me why you decided to bring them in."

Malfoy turned, somehow managing to still look graceful, even while he was walking backwards. Still smirking slightly, he narrowed his eyes, and said, "Human beings do insane things sometimes, for the people they care about."

With that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Harry to grin at his retreating back.

~*~*~

After his divorce, Harry Potter had become a confirmed bachelor. He liked strip clubs as much as any bloke, and he regularly met his old school chums for a round of Guinness after work. The few disastrous, and very short lived, relationships he'd attempted since Ginny left him had never kept him awake at night.

So why, exactly, was Harry Potter moping around like a lovesick schoolgirl, waiting for Draco Malfoy to talk to him?

Oh, they talked at work whenever they happened to pass one another in the hall; and once, Malfoy had even come to his office to deliver a memo from Mottlefroom. Unfortunately, said memo had been the potato-faced Auror's way of asking Harry to meet him for drinks- since, of _course_ the entire division knew his last case had involved posing as Draco Malfoy's gay lover- and Malfoy had only delivered it so he could laugh at Harry's pain.

Then again, it seemed like the entire division was laughing at him.

Every time he passed that fat bastard, Stile, the irritating little shit leered at him. Puddlywink had joined the game as well, ambushing him near the water cooler to ask how his relationship with Malfoy was going. Even Shacklebolt walked around with a near constant smirk on his face, which only grew wider when Harry threw things at his head and demanded to know what was so bloody funny.

They were all idiots, he'd decided.

Throwing his quill down on his desk in disgust, Harry glared at the far wall. The golden snitch glinted back at him from its oak frame.

"Hey Potter," Snopes said, swinging around the edge of the door with a grin.

"Fuck you," Harry shot back, automatically.

"No thanks, Malfoy's a right scary bastard when he's jealous," the Junior Auror replied, only barely dodging the paperweight Harry flung at his head. "Seriously, though, Malfoy's looking for you."

"What?" Harry asked, hand pausing over the coffee mug he'd meant to throw.

Snopes shrugged. "I think his exact words were _'tell that walking fashion faux pas to get down here before I scalp him and sell that wool he calls hair to starving children in Alaska_ '."

"Starving children in-?" Harry began shaking his head. "Never mind, where is he?"

"Yelling at Stile, last I saw him," Snopes replied, ducking back into the hall. "You might want to hurry; he sounded pretty pissed off."

~*~*~

"…furthermore, you fat little shit, if I see one more sodding cupcake wrapper on _my_ desk, I will hex your balls off- not that you'd notice them missing because really, I doubt you've seen them in years."

"What's going on?" Harry ventured, carefully stifling his laughter at the shocked expression on Stile's face.

" _You_ ," Malfoy spat, whirling on him in a flurry of tousled blond hair and furious grey eyes. "My office, _now_."

There was a collective chant of childish ooh-ing among their co-workers as Malfoy grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the office, slamming the door behind them.

"Wha-?" Harry began, confused.

"I want an explanation, Potter," Malfoy interrupted with a snarl.

"What did I do?" Harry cried, throwing his hands into the air in exasperation.

"Three days," Malfoy hissed. "Three days, and you haven't even so much as stopped by to ask how I'm doing."

"Oh- er," Harry offered.

"What is wrong with you?" Malfoy demanded, slamming his hands down on the desk. "Besides the obvious, I mean."

"Uhm," Harry replied, shaking his head.

"First you hate me, then you're kissing me on the front steps of my flat," Malfoy growled from between clenched teeth.

"That-" Harry began, but the other man was far from finished.

" _Then_ you try to pretend it never happened, but a few hours later, you're fucking me senseless," Malfoy raged.

"I-" Harry tried, blushing fiercely.

"And how _dare_ you have the audacity to ask me what the fuck we're doing, like it actually bloody _means_ something to you," Malfoy interrupted, his shoulders trembling. Impossibly, he looked like he was about to cry.

Harry closed the distance between them in two short strides, grabbing his former partner by the front of his robes and shoving him back against the desk.

"Shut the fuck up for two seconds," Harry growled. "First of all, I don't know what the hell happened that first night, but I'm not sorry it did."

Malfoy opened his mouth to say something, but Harry covered it with his hand, ignoring the outraged squeak and attempts to bite his palm.

"Second of all, I _liked_ fucking you, and I'm okay with that," Harry continued angrily. "Third of all, why would I bloody well try to talk to you when you're avoiding me like nothing ever happened?"

Harry glared down into the grey eyes that glared right back at him. Malfoy's breath was hot against his palm, and he instinctively dropped his hand to wipe it on the front of his trousers. That was a mistake, because a moment later, Malfoy's teeth were closing over his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Fuck!" Harry cursed as the other man pulled away. "I can't believe you just bloody _bit_ me."

"Ten points to Gryffindor for excellent observational skills," Malfoy spat. "You stupid sod, are you really _that_ inept that you didn't _get_ it when I told you I care about you?"

"Wha- I- but that-" Harry stammered, caught completely offguard by the straightforwardness of the question. "I thought you- but then you didn't talk to me-"

"Fuck you, Harry Potter," Malfoy told him.

Their lips met in a violent kiss, teeth and tongues and a desperate struggle to mark each other's bodies with all the things they couldn't say- and for those few breathless moments, they were sixteen again, fierce and immortal, in the hallways at Hogwarts and on the Quidditch pitch, both rushing toward the same golden truth, hands outstretched, flying side by side through sunlight and rain, heaven and hell, toward the ground that rose up below them with only a heartbeat's chance to pull up before they crashed.

Malfoy lunged forward, catching Harry off balance, and they both stumbled toward the door of the office. There was a loud thud, a splintering of wood, and they tumbled out into the hallway, hitting the floor with enough force to knock the wind out of both of them.

And amidst the catcalls and laughter of their co-workers, Harry grinned.

They'd finally hit the bottom.


	10. The Venice Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter was one of the youngest Aurors in history. He was the Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Who Lived Again. He loved Guinness and Quidditch, and hated pineapple. He wrote letters to Hagrid every Thursday, and on Sundays, he visited Hermione and Ron. Harry Potter was also not gay.

  
"Fuck- _yeah_ \- don't stop-"

"So fucking tight."

"Mmph," Malfoy agreed as Harry's teeth closed over the side of his neck. Writhing against the wall, he twisted in just the right way to make Harry's cock feel like it was burning him from the inside out.

"You're going- make me come- don't stop doing that," Harry gasped as his lover's legs tightened around his waist. Lifting Malfoy higher, he angled his hips upward, striking his lover's prostate with every thrust.

"Fuck," Malfoy whined, tilting his head back against the wall and gripping Harry's shoulders so hard his fingernails bit through the fabric of his shirt.

"Touch yourself," Harry whispered heatedly. "Want to watch you come."

They'd been doing this for two weeks, and it showed no signs of letting up any time soon. Unfortunately, this was pretty much _all_ they'd been doing, because every conversation they tried to have about the status of- whatever this was - always seemed to end with someone's cock in someone's mouth or arse, and both of them coming so hard they couldn't speak afterward.

Harry tried to tell himself he was okay with that, but he knew he wasn't.

"Bite me," Malfoy requested in a groan.

Acquiescing, Harry bowed his head and took the side of his lover's neck between his teeth. There was a perpetual bruise there that had to be covered with a glamour, but they both seemed to be acutely aware of its presence, and there had been a few times when Malfoy had turned his head just so, and Harry had to bite his hand to keep from reaching out and running his fingers over the reddened flesh in the middle of a division meeting. Sometimes, he privately wished Malfoy would forget the glamour, and come to work one morning bearing the indisputable evidence of their affair.

"Harder," Malfoy whined, arching away from the wall.

Growling quietly, Harry stopped just short of drawing blood. When Malfoy's body clenched around his cock, that familiar heat shot through his veins, down his spine, and straight to his balls, which drew up against his body. Malfoy's prick was leaking precome through the front of his shirt, and Harry shifted until his lover could rub against his stomach as he stroked himself.

"Come for me," Harry groaned, pulling away from the tormented flesh and tracing the darkening bruise with his tongue.

"Close," Malfoy told him in a gasp. "Fuck- Harry- please don't stop- I-"

" _MALFOY! POTTER!_ "

"Shit," Harry cursed as Shacklebolt's booming voice echoed down the hall just outside the office. Too far gone to stop, he increased his rhythm, squeezing his eyes closed and pleading with his cock to be cooperative for just a few minutes longer.

The effort was rewarded with a quiet sob from Malfoy, who tensed in his arms and came with a convulsive shudder, covering Harry's stomach with liquid heat. That was enough to send Harry over the edge as well, and he muffled his own cries in the side of his lover's neck.

"We really need to stop doing this at the office," Malfoy panted once they'd caught their breath enough to speak.

Harry nodded mutely.

~*~*~

"I'm not going to ask," Shacklebolt said as his two youngest Aurors stumbled into the office, straightening their rumbled clothing.

Harry offered him a sheepish grin and took a seat in one of the chairs at the desk. Thankfully, the Head Auror had put a stop to the catcalling and leering by threatening anyone he caught in the act with two weeks of security patrol at Gringott's. And although Shacklebolt's rules rarely applied to Shacklebolt himself, even he had refrained from mentioning the intra-office affair.

"We just got a wire from Tokyo," Shacklebolt said once they had all settled into their seats. "I know you two haven't had long to recuperate, but the Kempeitai Mahou is throwing a fit because the suspect is English, and I need someone out there as soon as possible."

"What's going on?" Harry asked, feeling suddenly nervous. The fact that he and Malfoy had just been called into the office together inevitably meant that Shacklebolt was going to ask them to take the case as partners, and he had a feeling that his lover's reaction was going to tell him everything he needed to know about the status of their haphazard relationship.

"There have been several attacks on the Imperial Palace," Shacklebolt explained, tapping his fingers on the desk. "I'm sure you know the Palace houses a few magical objects, and intelligence is reasonably sure they're after the Jin Staff, one of the oldest dark artifacts in the world."

"Who, exactly, is _they_?" Malfoy asked, narrowing his eyes.

"They're led by an English wizard by the name of Harrod O'Dorchaidhe," Shacklebolt hedged. "Ten years ago, he was a suspect in a number of assassination attempts, and he fled to Japan shortly after his partner was arrested."

"You're avoiding the question," Malfoy pointed out with a mad glimmer in his eyes. "Who is _they_?"

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Shacklebolt said tiredly, closing his eyes as if praying for the strength to go on, "He's leading a band of-"

"Say it," Malfoy whispered excitedly, leaning forward and bouncing slightly in his chair. "Come on, say it."

"Of-" Shacklebolt seemed to be stumbling over the words.

Malfoy made a quiet sound of glee.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Shacklebolt cursed exasperatedly. "A band of ninja samurai."

" _Yes_!" Malfoy cried, leaping out of his chair and doing what Harry could only guess was some sort of victory dance that involved a lot of hopping around, pointing, and singing, "I _told_ you."

The Head Auror buried his face in his hands and mumbled something that sounded a lot like, "Please kill me."

Once Malfoy had regained his composure and reclaimed his seat, he immediately asked, "So when do we leave?"

"Er," Harry said, his throat suddenly very dry, "You want to take the case?"

"Of course I-" Malfoy began, but stopped abruptly, his smirk fading. "Oh. I'm not sure. Maybe?"

"Oh," Harry replied, and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Shacklebolt repeated to his hands, "Potter, Malfoy has been obsessed with you for at least the last three years, if not longer; he takes the cases no sane person would even consider because he's trying to impress you- also, because he's insane."

"I am not!" Malfoy cried, but didn't bother to clarify which part of the statement he was disagreeing with.

"Malfoy, you're probably the only person in the division who hasn't caught on to the fact that Potter is all but crawling at your feet," the Head Auror continued, undeterred.

"I am not!" Harry protested, ignoring the heat slowly creeping across his cheeks. It was more like sulking quietly whenever his lover wasn't paying attention to him, really.

"You're both gay, you're both mad for each other, and you're both absolutely brilliant _idiots_ ," Shacklebolt announced, finally lifting his face from his hands and glaring impatiently across the desk. "Now, let me make something very clear gentlemen."

Harry and Malfoy sat in silence as the Head Auror rose from behind his desk and pointed at the wall of his office.

"Do you see that?" Shacklebolt demanded. "Those are my degrees, certifications, and licenses."

"Uhm," Harry agreed.

"Not _one_ of them says Relationship Therapist," Shacklebolt continued. "Nor do any of them say Matchmaker, School Counselor, or _Mommy_."

"I see," Malfoy said slowly.

"The two of you are going to leave early today," the Head Auror told them. "You're going to go home, you're going to shag one another senseless, you're going to actually _talk_ about your relationship- do _not_ start with me, Malfoy- and when you come back here in the morning, I expect you to at least _pretend_ to be sane and ready for a case briefing."

The two younger men both nodded mutely.

"Now get the hell out of my office," Shacklebolt snapped, pointing at the door.

Heads hung, they filed out of the office into the corridor.

"So, uh," Harry began after a moment had passed and neither of them made any move to actually leave. "That went well."

"You're an idiot," Malfoy replied, rolling his eyes.

Harry couldn't help but to grin at the lack of conviction in his lover's voice. "Says the man who's been obsessed with me for three years."

"At least I'm not crawling around at your feet like a lost puppy," Malfoy shot back with a smirk.

"I'm really tired of your cheek," Harry told him with as much seriousness as he could muster.

"I'm really tired of your face," Malfoy retorted with a huff.

"So I'll meet you at your flat at six?" Harry asked, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

"Make it five, and we can watch King Boxer," Malfoy replied.

Harry stared at him. "Isn't that a Kung Fu movie?"

"Research," Malfoy replied with a nonchalant shrug. "I've always said the world needs to be prepared for a surprise attack by a band of ninja samurai, and I was right."

"You really are insane," Harry laughed.

"Eccentric," Malfoy corrected him. "Besides, insane or not, it's one of the best movies of all time."

"I thought you didn't watch movies," Harry pointed out, remembering their gasped conversation in the lift.

"I lied," Malfoy replied with a smirk.

Snorting quietly, Harry shook his head and turned away with a muttered, "I'll see you at five."

Just as he was about to turn the corner, someone called his name, and he paused. When he turned, Malfoy was staring at him with an odd expression, and Harry tilted his head to the side in a silent question.

"Uhm," Malfoy began, and there was no doubt about it, he was actually blushing. The next sentence came out in a rush, "Ireallydocareaboutyoualot."

It took a moment for Harry to insert the spaces that hadn't been there, and when he did, he smiled. "Do you ever tell the truth, Malfoy?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," Malfoy said quietly, meeting his gaze for a heartbeat of silence. "Yeah, I do."

Nodding, Harry walked backwards for a few steps before rounding the corner. A moment later, Malfoy's voice followed him down the hall.

"Bring bacon so you can make me breakfast tomorrow!"

Alone in the corridor, Harry smiled. Of course he'd bring bacon. And coffee, and chocolate, and anything else Draco wanted.

That's just what partners did for the people they cared about.


End file.
